Of Love And Insanity
by Canaryinthemine
Summary: What makes you fall in love? What makes you fall into insanity? Lydia believes they're both built of the same things. Because the things you'll do, say, think, and believe when you're in love are far too close to crazy for her comfort. And we know what they say about the truly crazy, they don't even know they've lost it until its too late. The same goes for those in love.
1. Hands Shaking

Disclaimer: I don't own this.

An: I know, I know. I should be working on Crave, but this idea popped into my head. And I can't stop it, Crave will continue but I hope you guys like this one too!

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...

They say crazy people, the true honest to God crazy people, they don't know that they're crazy.

Well she knew that she was crazy. She knew that something was deeply wrong with her. That something had broken her mind and spread the delicate pieces to the wind. She knew what did that too.

Peter Hale.

She knew it wasn't her fault, the insanity. And she knew she was only making it harder on herself, tonguing her medicine every morning. Fighting against that French-Canadian quack, making up people in her mind that led her to burned and abandoned houses in the middle of the woods.

Running around barefoot and ruining her perfect pedicure feet. She'd have to spend an hour in the salon to undo the damage her lapse in mind had caused. Twirling the little purple flower around in her fingers, Lydia Martin contemplated her next move. Because she needed a next move. Someone was keeping secrets here, no doubt about it. She may have been crazy, but she wasn't a fool. She needed to find out just what the hell was going on.

And she knew for a fact that it wasn't some online video game, battling monsters. She knew because she'd checked every single one. There was no 'kanima'. She couldn't even find the beast in old mythological texts. Not one history held the kanima. It didn't exist except in Allison's little tablet file marked bestiary. Which means they were lying. She was tired of being lied to. She was tired of being handled with the kid gloves. She was tired of no one having right now available!

Stiles Stilinski. Oh, she could break him. She could get him to talk. He'd tell her every single thing she wanted to know. She know he would.

I think you're beautiful.  
I've had a crush on you since the third grade.  
You have a soul.  
When you're done acting like a nitwit.  
Lydia, run!  
Please...don't kill her.

A shiver shot through her spine at the thought. Oh yes, she could get him to talk. Easy. Shrugging of the cold bite at her stomach, possibly hunger for it couldn't be mild guilt, she rose to her feet. She didn't exactly know how to get home, but she knew she could pretty well figure it out. She could figure anything out.

.

...

Showered, cleaned, and shoe'd, found her at the Stilinski door step. His blue Jeep was in the driveway, an empty spot where she assumed his father parked the police cruiser. Piles of red, gold, and brown leaves dotted the tidy yard. It was going to be windy tonight, a slight breeze already picking up, all that hard work was going to be for nothing when they scattered everywhere. Picking up her hand, she knocked again.

The boy looked shocked, wide eyed and leaning against the doorframe. His mouth worked mute and the strawberry blonde blinked, waiting. He got a hold of himself. "Lydia. Hey, yeah. I'm sure your here to yell at me about something but I'm grounded, so can you do it at school tomorrow?" He asked and she looked at him like he was the crazy one.

Crossing her arms, she narrowed her green eyes. "I drove all the way here to see you, and you're turning me away?" She shook her head, "Of all the people who want to talk to me, the people I want to talk to turn me away."

"I just can't. Not right now." Stiles pleaded, hoping she'd understand. His father would kill him. He was supposed to be grounded, not entertaining Lydia.

Lydia was stung by the familiarity. She turned her eyes to the side, watching one of the leaves catch the wind and float off. "No one ever has right now available." She told him, following the leaf as it exited the yard. She took a step back.

Sighing, Stiles reached out and grabbed her hand. He couldn't turn her away, not when she looked so sad. Something had to be wrong. He remembered her crying in her car, writting backwards on the board. Lying bloodied on the lacrosse field. Dancing with him. "For you? I always have right now." He half smiled, tugging her through the door and into the house. He didn't care if his Dad made him scrub the drunk tank, he wouldn't turn her away. Not for anything.

Lydia looked around her as she sat down, taking in his livingroom. He muted the television and turned a lamp on. Sitting down on one end of the couch, she took the other tucking her legs underneath her. She sat in the silence, suddenly nervous. Her stomach cramped. What was she doing? She should be able to do this. Bend another human being into doing what she wanted. She was good at this. This was her element.

"Is everything okay Lydia?" Stiles asked, watching her stare at the carpet. Her eyes were unfocused, her mind somewhere else. When he said her name she looked up, startled. Blinking rapidly.

"Of course. I'm perfect. Everything is perfect." Lydia flipped her hair, it was straight. A barrette holding one side back from her pretty face. "But the rest of you aren't. Something is going on, and I want to know what. And don't lie to me." She pointed a finger at him, daring him to mention online gaming. She was certain she'd scream.

Stiles shook his head, leaning forward to place it in his hands. He rested his elbows on his knees, speaking into his palms. "I can't, Lydia." He told her, apology in his tone. She deserved to know. She really did. But he couldn't tell her. How could he? 'Scotts a werewolf and Jackson is a monster. Oh, and your best friend hunts these monsters. Derek Hale? He's one of them. They've all teamed up and may have to kill the boy you love. But don't worry, you're immune!' That would go over real well, he just knew it. "Not right now. I wouldn't even know how to."

Lydia watched him, watched as he rubbed the back of his neck. He was struggling not to tell her. "I thought you said you always had right now?" She asked and he looked up, guilt was in his eyes. He frowned, shaking his head again.

"This is different Lydia...if I told you, without any way to back it up, you'd think I was crazy." He wanted her to understand. He wanted her to so desperately. But he also wanted to protect her, from all of this. From anything that might hurt her and this could hurt her. It already had hurt her. It was his fault, somehow. Peter had used her against him. He could take it if she was hurt again because of him. "You wouldn't believe me. You'd never talk to me again."

Lydia went wide eyed, looking everywhere but him. There was that word. Crazy. "Would you still talk to me? If I was crazy?" She asked, her voice small. It wasn't tactics anymore. She didn't care. She had to know. Would he drop her if he knew? Run screaming? Would she loose everything along with her mind?

"Of course." Stiles told her, watching her eyes dart around nervously. She was fidgeting. Lydia Martin, nervous. It was a strange thing to behold. He didn't like it. "But you're not crazy." He told her, moving closer and grabbing her hand. "I promise." She gripped his back, a tight hold.

Lydia panicked, looking up at him. "I get scared sometimes, that I am crazy." She admitted quietly, "I've been seeing things."

And then she was telling him. She mentally kicked herself. What the hell was she doing? She was supposed to be manipulating this boy, not playing Dr Phil! He didn't need to know these things! Why was she still talking! Why couldn't she shut the fuck up? Why was she telling him this? About Peter and school, backwards messages and breaking her mirrors. Screaming at night and crying. So much crying. Sometimes she woke up sobbing, unable to cathch her breath. She had nightmares and visions. Crazy figments that couldn't be real. Monsters. She realized that she kept talking, trying to lengthen the time where he hasn't said anything about her. About her being crazy. About her loosing her mind. The moment where he hasn't given her the same look that everyone else had. The pitying, poor crazy girl look. She rationalized it, telling herself that this would only help her cause. She was telling him these things so he would tell her things. Not because he looked at her with those understanding eyes, full of sympathy and worry. Not pity like the rest of them. And there was something else there too, something she didn't recognize but it made her cry harder. Sobbing against his chest, heaving breaths. Broken. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. Oh God, she couldn't breathe.

And that was when his father came in, it was how he found them.

Her hyperventilating and him trying to coax her through what he didn't tell her was a panic attack. Another insanity check mark. Panic attacks. God forbid. He was brushing her hair back, holding her face to maintain eye contact. Anything to get her to calm down. To breathe so she didn't pass out. God, his Dad would kill him if she passed out. "Just think calm Lydia. Please, just breathe." He brushed a hand down her face, smearing make up and tears away. "Breathe."

Didn't he realize that she couldn't? She was loosing her mind and he kept telling her to calm down! "I can't! I can't breathe!" She sobbed, shaking her head wildly. He caught it. Shushing her as the Sheriff fluttered around. She didn't know what he was doing, he was out of her line of sight and so she focused on Stiles.

He smiled at her, an everything-is-gonna-be-alright smile. It was nice. His eyes were so sweet when he looked at her like that. She didn't know why. Couldn't he see that she was crazy? "Yes you can. You're talking. I know you're smart enough to know that you need oxygen to speak." She had oxygen. Taking too fast breaths through her nose. It left her light headed. Dizzy.

But it was true and Lydia nodded, she didn't listen as he whispered little things, ran his fingers through her hair in a calming gesture. She counted the colors in his eyes. Five minutes ago she couldn't have told you the color if you put a gun to her head. But they were brown, light light brown. Like whiskey, dark and light pulling through. A fleck of green. A little gold. She was breathing, calm and steady, and he was smiling. She forgot what she was here for, leaning her tear soaked face against his chest. "I'm so tired." She rasped, her fingers clutching his tee shirt.

Stiles looked down at the top of her head as she leaned against him. "Yeah, they'll do that to you." He told her, wondering if he should keep his arms at his side when her free arm was wrapped tightly around his waist. His Dad was watching, looking ready to have a panic attack of his own.

"Ill call her Mother." He offered, backing out of the room. He ignored the fact that his grounded son had company. That wasn't the main point here. He ignored the memories of his son's panic attacks. The hyperventilation. The crying. The sound of those quick little breaths. His own inability to deal with them. His phone calls to Melissa McCall, praying she knew what to do. Her own speaker phone as she calmed his son down. The way his son calmed Lydia down.

The girl bolted up, her eyes wide. She'd be committed. Her mom would die if this little lapse of mind got out. "I'm fine! Please, Sheriff Stilinski, don't call her." she begged, praying he wouldn't. Stiles looked up and shook his head, his son hoping the same. He remembered the multicolor doses that Ms. McCall would bring Lydia. All those pills. Her father had complained, her mother had sworn she needed them. News of a panic attack would mean one more pill in Lydia's cup. And he didn't know how many more it would take until she changed to unrecognizable.

His father caved under the duplicate pleading, shoving his phone back in his pocket. "Alright, but why don't you stay awhile? At least for dinner?" He had to do something though, he couldn't have her out and about until he was sure she was safe. Sane.

.

...

Lydia fell asleep during the wait, her head in his son's lap. He had to look twice in shock. Stiles stared across the room at nothing, absently pulling a piece of the girl's hair between his fingers. She had her hand on his knee, a handful of his jeans even as she slept. When she shifted, his son looked back down. Worried for a moment, but then smiled. The Sheriff wondered if the girl even knew. He stepped forward into the livingroom, holding up the takeout bags the boy had just delivered. "Dinners here."

Lydia stirred, wiping her hands across her face and pulling away her smeared make up. She looked at the bags then back to Stiles, her head still in his lap. "How long have I been out?" She asked quietly. She'd hoped it had all just been a bad dream, obviously not.

"Just twenty minutes or so." He told her, leaning over to pull the straps of her high heels out. She toed them off before sitting up. He watched as she sunk back into the couch, looking at the clock. It was eight forty. Stiles stuck out a hand to help her up, "Come on, let's get you fed."

She took his hand, standing on wobbly legs and barefeet. Their carpet was soft. She had hardwood flooring and tile. It was warm beneath her feet. When he moved to the hall, she tugged him back. She shifted, looking up. "Look, I just wanted to say...thanks." She snapped, sounding harsh and mean. Lydia. Stiles understood.

"Move Lydia." He told her with a smile, watching as she flipped her hair and walked in front of him. She didn't let go of his hand though. He didn't want her to.

Dinner wasn't quiet. Stiles talked. A lot. But for some reason, it didn't bother her. His Dad spoke of work and made a comment about the leaves. Stiles swore he raked them all and Lydia stiffled a smile. The wind had scattered them. She could hear it picking up outside, preparation for a storm. The leaf piles were goners.

Stiles watched her as she mastered her chopsticks, pouring far too much soy sauce on her fried rice. His Father said something and she choked on her drink. She was laughing. He'd say every word he knew to get her to laugh. And then he realized what his father was saying.

"And then I heard over the police radio, underaged male streaking. I knew immediately. Sure enough, pulling up I saw my son's bare ass being handcuffed."

Lydia laughed. Hard. Stiles felt his face flame, "It was a dare! I couldn't turn it down! It was a dare!" He defended, pointing his fork wildly. Lydia raised a brow, smirking. "When the polar bear run is dared, you do it." He was shocked his father still remembered that bad decision. What had even started this topic?

Sheriff Stilinski looked across the table at the red head, nodding towards his son. "And when your blood alcohol limit is above the legal limit, you get to spend the night in the drunk tank in nothing but your boxers." He told her, watching his son turned even redder.

Stiles tried to brush it off, crossing his arms. "Hey. I made some really good friends that night. Joined a gang." He told them, shaking his head. "The pen changes you. I'm a hardened criminal. You should be careful Lydia." He said it like a warning and Lydia raised her brow. He was having dinner with Lydia. She was at his table, sure his dad was there, telling embarrassing stories, but it was worth it. As long as she was happy. And he didn't tell the story about the time he and Scott had pulled a Lady and the Tramp spaghetti faux pas. And the pictures did not need to be shown.

To anyone. Ever.

"Its not a gang if you're the only member, son." The Sheriff said, tossing the boy out two fortune cookies. Stiles caught them with a fumble, handing one to Lydia. "I've got the dishes." He told him, gesturing for the two to go with a wave. Sure, his some was on dish duty for the next two months, but he could have a night off.

The livingroom was suddenly stuffy and Stiles let Lydia lead the way to the back porch. She sat down on the steps, staring out into the darkness that the porch light didn't touch. "What's your fortune say?" He asked and she looked down at the cookie. Tugging the wrapper open, she broke apart the cookie.

Lydia read the fortune, frowning at the text. Shrugging, she bit into the stale cookie for want of something to do. "You first." She mumbled.

Stiles held up the slip, waving it in the wind. The rain was coming down hard, Lydia moved back on the porch under its shelter. "Don't eat cold spring roll for breakfast, we open at eight am. And then there's the number for the take out place."

"Wise." Lydia snarked, watching as the boy shoved the whole cookie in his mouth. He turned and his face was encased in the darkness as the electricity halted. She heard his father swear as the lights went out, his voice coming through the partly opened kitchen window.

Lightening crackled, lighting up the boy behind her on the porch. But it wasn't Stiles, it was him.

His face burned and Lydia couldn't scream. She scrambled away, trying to run backwards down the steps. She fell, her ass hitting the mud that had once been a flower bed. Hard. She let out a yelp, a sob. A horrible choked noise of weakness. He was coming closer. Stepping down off the porch, untouched by the rain that was soaking her to the core. Matching the cold that grew in her stomach. His mouth was moving, saying something. Just movement. He was reaching for her, about to grab her. She threw her arms up, falling further into the mud. The porch light came on and she saw him. Stiles. Not Peter, Stiles.

He brushed the hair from her face, tears and rain tracking her face as she looked up at him with fear in her eyes. "I thought...I thought you were him." She cried, gripping his arms. "You were him...I swear you were." He was getting drenched by the rain and so was she, she was shivering. From fear or the cold he didn't know. He didn't want her shivering from either. She just kept shivering.

He gently pried her freezing hands off his arms knowing he'd be bruised tomorrow. Her nails had bit into his skin. An arm behind her and one under her knees, he lifted her. Her arms went tight around his neck. She mumbled, something.

He couldn't make it out. She felt so light in his arms. Too light. "I'm not Peter, Lydia." He promised, pushing open the door and turning to walk in. "He isn't here. He can't hurt you." He wanted to tell her that Peter Hale was dead, but he couldn't. How could he? What would he say? What could he say?

Lydia held on for dear life as she felt them going up the stairs. She couldn't see anything, her face pressed tight. She kept hearing him though, in the back of her mind. Peter Hale whispered. He lived there. She shivered, holding on tighter. A part of her, the part she knew was the last bit if her sanity, wondered what the hell she was doing. Clutching at this boy she hardly even knew. She'd came here for answers but all she got was Chinese food and more confusion.

And probably pneumonia.

This wasn't helping her. She was a child. Scared and pitiful. Weak. The boy set her down in her feet and she looked around. A bathroom.

Stiles watched as she looked around, confused. He was so glad his Dad had forced him to scrub the house yesterday, floor boards to ceiling. You just never knew when someone would experience a nervous break down in your home and fly about in the mud. "You're a mess." He pulled the wrapper from her fortune cookie out of her hair. The rain water had loosened the straight locks, curling them back to normal. Her back was covered in black garden mud. A smear of the mix on her face. "I hear mud baths are good for you though." He joked.

She gave him a flat look. Lydia Martin did not take mud baths. She did not get dirty. She did not loose her mind. She looked over her shoulder at the shower, remembering her first mental snap. There were no windows in this bathroom though. She doubted she could escape to the woods.

Stiles was moving around, leaning half out the door. He pulled back with clothes. Comic book pajamas pants and a teeshirt. It would be too big, but they were drawstring. He was sure with her hourglass figure she could make it work. He folded them and pulled out two towels. "If you stay in that, you'll catch a cold." He told her, pointing to the shower. "Go. Toss your clothes out when you take them off and I'll put them in the wash."

Cold mud was soaking into her knit thigh highs and she had to agree. She felt disgusting. The dirt was gritty and the rain was cold. She could see the black stain she'd left on his white shirt. It was damp and she scrubbed a finger over it. His chest was surprisingly hard beneath her finger, not the bird bones she expected. "Are you sure you aren't just trying to get me naked?" She asked quietly, looking up with her hand on his chest.

Stiles went still, sputtering and waving his hand. "I uh, well, it, uhm. You, and rain. Cold." He coughed clearning his throat as his mind stopped dead at the thought. He couldn't say he'd forgotten about seeing her in the woods. He was sure he'd never forget that. Ever.

Lydia smirked, pressing hard on his chest. Hard enough to push him out the open door. She kicked the door shut and quickly tore off her soaked clothing before the stain set in. She stuffed it all together and held it out.

Stiles grabbed the bundle, watching as something fell out. Underwear. Lydia Martin's underwear. He was sure he was going to faint. Picking them up, he shoved them into the dress. He couldn't think of Lydia's panties. He had to think of the fact that she was loosing her mind. She was delicate. And naked, in his shower. Lydia, the girl he'd loved since the third grade. In his shower. No panties. Because he had them. He had Lydia Martin's panties.

Something else hit him. A long grey sock, dead across the face. "Ruin my dress and I'll make you wear it." Her voice called from the crack in the door before she shut it all the way.

He shook his head, clearing it. "Cold water. Delicate cycle. Air dry." Stiles read the little tag on the dress, switching the knobs to match the instructions it gave. Detergent went in, then the mudded dress. And her panties. Lydia's. A barely there scrap of lace. A little slip of paper fell out and into the water. Her fortune.

"Your uncertainty is your worst enemy." He read, pocketing the wet strip and shutting the lid.

"We've got to talk, son." His dad leaned against the hall, watching his son do the girl's laundry. "She in the shower?" Stiles nodded, following his dad to the now cleaned kitchen. He probably wanted to talk about Lydia's un-Lydia behavior.

Leaning against the counter Sheriff Stilinski eyed his son. The boy was still in his wet and dirty clothes, too caught up in taking care of the girl to take care of himself. He rubbed a hand hard against his brow. "What's going on here Stiles?" He asked, watching his son collapse into a table chair like his bones were made of lead.

Stiles shrugged, his shoulders heavy. He felt like his bones were made of Adamantium. Only he wasn't Wolverine, he felt more like Jubilee. Unhelpful and usually messing things up. "I don't know, Dad." He answered, half honest. He threw a hand up, "She's kinda, I don't know. She showed up calm."

The Sheriff watched carefully, studying his son's face. He looked tired, worn out. He felt bad for his son for a second. "Why would she come to you?"

"Maybe because I was her date that night. I was the one how found her. I got Jackson to take her."

"Does she know? That you love her?"

It was three in one. How convenient. She didn't even check the ingredients, knowing she'd probably faint if she did. Harsh Sulfates and oils there to eat her hair. How could one soap even begin to wash everything? It was impossible. She shook her head washing her face with, and she shivered, bar soap. It was green. Thankfully on purpose. Its smelled good. It would smell better on a guy, but she used what she had. She scrubbed her hair and then everything else. No conditioner. Not a dab. The gel matched the soap. How nice.

Wrapping a towel around her, she stepped out of the shower. She knew it was far too much to ask for moisturizer. The soap had claimed to have that too. But still she wiped the steam from the mirror and pulled open his medicine cabinet. A razor, shave cream, tooth paste, an inhaler with a prescription to Scott McCall. Cute. Along the bottom row was a line of old orange bottles. Nerve pills and anti-depressants, she recognized the same meds she spit out when no one was looking. His were expired, the last script was for a year ago.

They were various degrees of empty.

Shuffling in the next room had her pulling on the comic book pants. She rolled them twice and tightened the strings. The teeshirt dwarfed her. It could have been a dress. And not a mini dress either. She hadn't noticed their heights were so drastic. She knew her heels were the cause. A thought hit her and she smirked at the thought of him doing her laundry. Washing her panties. Stepping out of the bathroom, she watched her host pull his own shirt over his head.

His back arched and his stomach rippled, his arms taunt above his head. He was a fine specimen, she noted as she leaned against the door. They were in his bedroom.

Stiles pulled the new shirt over his head to see Lydia against the doorframe, her smirk showing that she was all there. Perfectly Lydia with a towel wrapped around her head. "You look like a shaman." He joked, motioning to the towel around her head. "Read my palm?"

"I might need a comb to get past the hair." She replied with a raised brow as she walked over to his bed. She sat with her feet under her, pulling the towel down and scrubbing her hair with it. "Your soap is three in one." She spat like a curse, looking up at him like he was the worst.

He had to laugh. "Its convenient." He defended. "I spend less time showering." Lydia looked at him accusingly, pursing her lips. Any shower that took less than thirty minutes didn't get you clean. It couldn't. Unless it was a pressure wash. With harsh chemicals. And a brillo pad. Two brillo pads.

Three brillo pads.

Stiles leaned against his dresser, watching her dry her hair. It smelled like his shampoo it was kind of funny. He smiled. "Are you at your Dad's house this week? Or your Mom's?" He asked. He didn't know if she was safe to drive. He needed to know where he was going to bring her.

Lydia shook her head to neither. "I told my mom I was staying the night with Allison." She shrugged her shoulders under his shirt, throwing the towel at his hamper. "I figured I'd head to her house after the stop at yours." She found the remote for his television. "Movie while we wait for my dress to dry?"

Stiles frowned, watching as she easily tossed him the remote and picked up the Xbox controller. Netflix. "Lydia...your dress is hang dry..." that'd take hours...he didn't know how his Dad would take a co-ed sleepover. Especially if it was Lydia. In his bed. With no panties, cause they were in his dryer with her socks as her dress hung over it on a towel. She'd taken a nap though, she'd be up late. It was fine, as long as she

Didn't go to sleep.

Lydia looked up innocently, blinking her wide eyes. "Star Wars or nature documentary?" She asked before he could protest. Part of her didn't want to go. Part of her knew she should. But the part that controlled her body selected the movie before the boy could deny her. She felt safe here, for whatever reason. As long as he stayed in that desk chair and she was in his line of sight, she knew Peter Hale couldn't get her. She believed him. Believed that nothing could get her. She didn't know why. It wasn't like Stiles was some big man. She doubted he could take Prada on. But the way he looked at her? It made her feel, safe. She remembered the first time she'd lost it, after the movie rental parking lot. He'd came to see her, no one else did. She even heard he'd waited for her the whole time she'd been in the hospital. She blinked at the text on the screen, her bottom lip wobbling. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. She focused. She actually liked this movie.

Stiles watched as she stretched back on his bed. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad he thought. Lydia Martin was in his bed, wanting to watch the original Star Wars. Hell, he'd watch the prequel if she wanted. Okay...probably not. But still it was quite the thought. He looked over his shoulder at her.

She was asleep before R2D2 even rolled on the screen. Grumbling, he stood. Of course. He pulled his blanket over her, once again thanking the cleaning gods that his sheets were done. "I know where my future lies, oh shaman." He muttered, watching as she turned onto her side and put her fist under her chin. She looked peaceful. "It lies downstairs, on the small couch, while the girl of my dreams sleeps in my bed." He turned back to the television. "And I don't even get to finish Star Wars."

He found his Dad in his bed du jour, arms crossed and feet on the coffee table. He looked at him with a raised brow, taking in the pillow and quilt combo that Scott usually took when he slept on the couch. "Lydia passed out?"

"Yup." Stiles nodded, ignoring his Dad's hissing laugh as he threw the pillow down on the couch. Hard.

"Kick you out of your bed?" The Sheriff asked, smiling harder at his pouting son.

Stiles glared, "Yup." He popped.

The Sheriff laughed all the way to his room. He even laughed at four that morning as he walked out the door to work, his son laying half off the couch. He'd checked to see Lydia curled up like a Princess in his son's bed.

When Stiles woke up for school, Lydia was gone. But in her place was a basket with a big bow on his doorstep. High maintenance Lydia. He shook his head as he read the card.

'Stiles, this is soap. Shampoo. Conditioner. Facial wash. Moisturizer. SOAP. I've taken your 3 in 1 lie. That unhygienic bar too. You'll thank me.'

The bow had bubbles on it. How she'd done it, he'd never know.

.

...

An: whew! That was a long one. I liked writing this though...but now I'm off to work on Crave! I WILL be returning to this though! If its wanted that is...


	2. Welcome To The World

Disclaimer: I don't own teen wolf... yet. *maniacal laughter*

An: So...I love writing this story. I don't like boys in straw cowboy hats. That has nothing to do with anything. But you guys...these reviews. Oh my Yoda. You guys I could just squeal! I read them while I was eating breakfast and I smiled so hard it hurt! You just can't understand how much they mean to me! Its what makes me write. I'm just so grateful for them! That being said, enjoy!

Chapter Two.

She woke up in his bed.

She vaguely realized that she'd never woken up in Jackson's bed. She'd never even spent the night with him. The only reason she had a key to his house was so that she could lock up after they were done. So he didn't have to leave bed. Or so he could go directly to the shower. Wonderful guy that he was. Real romance.

Stiles had given her his bed, sleeping on the couch probably. Crawling out, she resisted the urge to dig through his room, sneaking down the stairs. She easily found the laundry room, pulling her dress off the hanger. It had a crimp along the shoulders from the wire hanger, but she shimmied it on regardless. She had to smile at the contents of the dryer. Socks and panties. She stepped into both, trying to remember where'd she'd taken her shoes off. The porch? Kitchen? Livingroom. She remembered Stiles undoing the buckle as she laid in his lap. It'd been...sweet. She hummed, slipping out of the room and padding into the livingroom.

She had to force herself not to laugh. The boy looked like a post-potion Alice, too long for the couch. The blanket only covered one leg, the leg that was half on the floor and bent at the knee. His pillow was on top of his head, one arm somehow bent to lay on his back the other on the floor and digging into the carpet. Moving quietly, Lydia grabbed her shoes.

Then set them down on the table.

She couldn't leave him lying like that. Like a b grade contortionist with the travelling circus. Carefully she righted his backwards arm, pulling his leg back to the couch. She threw the quilt back on him, tucking it in. Her Mother flew into her head suddenly, 'Snug as a bug in a rug.' She smiled, rubbing the back of her neck as she picked her shoes back up and walked out.

Suddenly she changed her mind, running back upstairs she grabbed something before she left. She'd woken up two hours early by the sound of the door shutting. Sheriff Stilinski was not a quiet man. She had enough time to enact her plan. And really, it was as much a thank you as it was a charitable deed.

A very charitable deed. Very indeed.

Her car was still parked at the road, the leaves scattered around. A few sticking to her windshield. She carried her shoes, watching as an old woman poked her face from behind the blinds across the street. She didn't look happy. Lydia wondered how nosey the neighbors were around here. She tossed her shoes in the passenger and realized she didn't much care. Her phone was blinking messages and calls as she picked it up, ignoring them all as she sent a message to a girl who owed her a favor.

She picked up the basket an hour and a half later, showered and ready for school. Before she left, she hit the livingroom window. Three loud pop-pop-pops, trying hard not to laugh as she heard a satisfying yelp and crash of Stiles waking up and falling to the floor. She raced back to her car and pulled off, she was being childish. But she couldn't let him sleep in, it would be rude she justified.

Before school she found herself at the drive through of Beacon Hills' Carry-Leigh's, ordering two chocolate donuts and coffees. She didn't even call Allison until she was in the driveway. The brunette's groggy shock was dashed by the promise of sweets and caffeine.

"I got a weird call from Jackson last night." Allison opened as she did her hair, Lydia took a sip of her coffee looking away. 'Guilty perhaps?' Allison mused. Though why she would be was anyone's guess. Lydia wasn't seeing Jackson any longer. "He sounded mad, he asked where you were..." Allison pulled the curling iron free from her hair, watching her best friend take a bite of her donut. Wherever she had been, it had been damn good to her to leave her in this mood. Usually when Lydia came with coffee and breakfast she wanted something, like to borrow a dress or some random little thing. Making Allison search for it before she could finish getting herself ready. "So where were you?" She asked.

Lydia shrugged her shoulders under her cardigan, flicking her eyes to look at the out the window. It was half open. Someone had snuck a little friend of their own in the night before. She knew Allison and Scott had been having fun of their own, the brunette had even gone so far as to ask Lydia about a few things. "No where." She answered, smirking. Evasive. "But who was here before me?" She batted her eyes knowingly and Allison blushed. It seemed they were at an impasse. Allison wouldn't ask anymore questions for fear of Lydia asking her own. The brunette took a large gulp of her coffee. "But if my Mother should ask, I was here."

Allison just nodded, trying subtly to place a dab of Concealer on her throat without Lydia noticing. They locked eyes in the mirror and Lydia smirked around the lid of her coffee. "What did you want to talk about yesterday?" She asked, desperate for a change of subject. Any change of subject.

Lydia felt her coffee go sour in her mouth, she choked it down against the urge to spit it out the window. Or in Allison's makeup bag. She was suddenly angry at the girl for bringing it up. She was having a damn good morning. "Nothing." She snapped harshly, glaring at a spot on the wall. She dropped the half full cup in the wastebasket.

"I'm sorry that I didn't have time for you yesterday Lydia." Allison apologized through the mirror, a frown on her face. Lydia shrugged. It wasn't that. It was what she had came to talk about yesterday. About Peter. Before her was Peter. Giving her flowers and making her smile. She wanted to talk about butterflies and holding her breath. Now, she didn't want to talk about any of that.

"Its nothin'." Lydia mumbled into her donut, looking at her feet. Allison sighed, going to sit on her bed next to the girl. Lydia may have seemed tougher than nails, but sometimes even nails broke.

"Its not 'nothin'." Allison admitted, watching as Lydia turned to look at her with wide eyes. That shock-dismay mixed look she'd given her in the car. "You wanted to talk about something obviously important, and I wasn't there for you. It wasn't fair of me and I'm sorry. You're my best friend, Lydia. I should always be there to talk to." Lydia kept her eyes wide, giving Allison a quick sharp nod.

"That's nice." She muttered, standing up and moving to primp in the mirror. She didn't need to, but it made Allison and all her mushy talk stop. The brunette watched her friend in the mirror, back to normal. She smiled as the girl checked her teeth. She stood to take place next to her, applying the lipstick Lydia handed her. "Share a ride to school?"

.

...

Stiles turned to find Jackson boring holes into the back of his head. He knew. He had to know. Somehow he had to have seen Lydia's car outside his house at some ungodly hour, even though that broke the fifty yard order. It seemed he thought the worst. Scott nudged him, motioning to the boy that was trying to blow him up with his mind. "Dude. Why is Jackson glaring at you even harder than normal? What did you do?" The Were looked at his in a mix of accusation and mild worry.

Stiles shrugged, which turned out to be more of a violent flinch. "Why do you think I did something?" He snapped, waving his hands wildly. "Jackson's an angry angry guy. Maybe he's still mad about the whole van in the woods thing? Or the sandwhich I got him? Maybe the pants itched. Whatever it is, it isn't my fault, its his. He's the monster here. What happened to killing him? That was a good plan. Was that my plan? Man, I liked that plan. I bet Derek would like that plan. Let's talk to him about it. Let's go. We don't really need a higher education. What's high school really but a dog and pony show of who's who? I mean really, I doubt I'll need chemistry in life except if I become some Meth maker. And I doubt that'll happen. That seems like a lot of work. Have you seen Breaking Bad? I've got it on Netflix. Let's go watch it after we tell Derek of our super awesome plan. That I made up. I like that plan." Stiles rambled as he walked, in place, not noticing that Scott held his back pack and stopped his great escape. The other boy let him finish his rant, waiting.

"You done?" Scott asked, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. Not very many people payed them any mind. They just continued on their way to classes, waiting for the bell to ring. Stiles stopped moving, durning to look at him. He nodded once. "I was just wondering. Chill out." He laughed, shaking his head. The wind shifted and he caught...a scent.

"You smell... different..." Scott looked at him hard, brow furrowed. He sniffed, a little too close for Stiles's comfort. He jumped back.

"Oh my God!" Stiles almost shouted, throwing his hands up. It was usually his job to ask a million questions, not Scott's. Since when did he even notice anything that didn't involve Allison? He liked that Scott, the oblivious one who didn't notice that he'd showered with the body wash that Lydia had gotten him. That it took every bit of will power he had to not think of the strawberry blonde as she had use the same shower not twenty-four hours ago. She hadn't been all together at the time. It wouldn't be right."Why the third degree? Is a man not allowed to change shampoo? Am I supposed to have only one scent? You know, I'll just go peel my flesh off to avoid further offending your super wolf nose! Jesus Christ." He stomped off, glaring when Scott grabbed his shoulder. Could he smell Lydia on him? Would he be able to smell his old soap on Lydia? He prayed she bathed before she came to school. Or at least drowned herself in her flowery scented perfume. She smelled so good...

"Dude. Chill." Scott said, wondering what was going on with his best friend. "Its nice."

Stiles preened, full bromance level. "Thank you for noticing." He mock fluttered his lashes, stilling as he spotted Isaac at the other end of the hall as they walked through the doors. "Do you know how Erica is?" He asked, remembering her shaking and screaming. Her arm snapping. You make a good Batman. What a lie. He didn't make a good Batman at all, especially not after he didn't even consider her once Lydia came over. Full on crazy Harley Quinn with a need to be saved from herself.

Scott grinned, oblivious to his friend's thoughts, spinning his locker combination. "She's doing just fine...Batman." He poked, watching as Stiles gave him a flat look. He pulled a text book out and shoved a binder in. Stiles pulled a note from his locker. "Derek kept her back though, just in case." They didn't know what could happen at this point. She'd been clammy and cold that morning when usually they were a hundred degrees.

Stiles read the note, a number was on it in cut out magazine numbers. Obvioulsy Allison left it for Scott. Or a serial killer secret admirer for him. He handed it over anyway, he wasn't sure he wanted another serial killer taking interest in him. "I'm assuming this bit of creepy Zodiac murderer is for you." He gave the boy an 'are you serious?' Look. They were just going beyond secrets now. It was just creepy. "And the library..."

Scott put the number in his phone then ripped the paper up. 'Probably to scatter in different trashcans across the state.' Stiles mused, 'Like a serial killer.' "I don't know. But those tapes..." Scott frowned, shaking his head. They were screwed if those tapes got out. The Argents...they'd know Jackson was the kanima. And they'd kill him in a minute.

"Dude."

"Yeah."

.

...

"Lydia, can I borrow your phone?" Allison asked after tugging the girl into the bathroom. She looked down to see the feet in the stall. Only one pair at the end. She didn't recognize them. To make her realize how silly she looked, Lydia did the same then gave the girl a judgemental stare. Allison Just shrugged. Safe than sorry.

Lydia walked to the fingerprint smudged mirror, pulling out her lipstick for a pre-class touch up. Not that it wasn't perpetually perfect. "Why?" She asked, already knowing. So the girl could go all wherefore art thou Romeo? And text Scott so her crazy mother wouldn't know. And Lydia knew Mother Argent was insane. She was Nintey eight percent sure that the woman had got a job as a secretary just to watch her daughter. Over Protectiveville, population one crazy Mother.

Allison answered just as Lydia assumed, "I need to talk to Scott." She said, watching the single pair of feet in the last stall. Just...lingering. Eavesdropping. Lydia looked over at them too.

"No sexting." The red head said, catching the girl's eyes in the mirror. She raised a brow as the brunette blushed. Cute. She pushed further. "I don't need Scott McCall's lacrosse stick as my background, kay?"

"Lydia!" Allison shouted, mortified. The redhead smirked, dabbing on her lipstick. It was fun to make the delicate girl blush, she did so so easily. Allison was sure her face was on fire. Actual flames.

"What?" She raised a red brow, shrugging her shoulders. She sighed as she saw Allison's eyes flick to the red Toms again. She rolled her eyes, speaking louder. "The only other person in here is Stacy Kline and we've all seen her sexting scandal." She snapped.

The girl in the last stall finally came out, stomping in her Toms with her permed hair bouncing wildly. "Bitch." She sneered, a mean glare on her face before she turned away.

"Oh come on Stacy. Its not my fault you're flat chested." Lydia called after her, shaking her head. That was genetics. She'd wanted her gone so she could talk to Allison, but as she looked at the girl through the mirror she changed her mind. They had three minutes before first period, she doubted she could. "Pull a tradsies though, just in case I need a phone." She smiled sharply.

Allison nodded, her phone already in hand. Eager eager Lydia sighed. She'd never wanted to talk to Jackson that much, but maybe it was the forbidden aspect? "Alright. I'll give it back as soon as possible." The brunette promised, shaking Lydia out of her own mind. She knew Lydia would give over her phone, she could be cold hearted but she'd help if it wasn't out of her way. Lydia paid attention in class, she didn't use her phone. Its why she'd left Scott her number in Stiles locker that morning. She just...wanted to talk to him. Not about the kanima or anything, just talking. About nothing and everything. She missed him. Lydia could see it in her eyes. She may have never felt that love, but she wouldn't stop it.

She still rolled her eyes however, putting her lipstick back in her purse and pulling out her phone. She handed it over, taking Allison's in hand. "We rode here together Allison. Just give it back then."

.

...

Periodically through class Lydia checked Allison's phone. The girl had given her instructions that if her Mother texted to respond with Cricket41seven. Lydia didn't even want to know why. Crazy Mother Argent needed no explanation. If Allison's father texted, she didn't reply. So far no one had. Lydia had told her that if her own Father texted, she had plans for the weekend. Allison had asked what they were and Lydia had told her anything but his.

Glancing back down Lydia saw a message had finally appeared. It seemed Allison wasn't as lonesome as she'd thought. She had been starting to feel bad for her. She checked the sender, Stiles. Looking up her green eyes landed on the back of his head, he was paying no attention to the Coach as he lectured. Beside him, Scott was staring at his lap with a grin. Either he'd gotten a message from Allison, or had just hit puberty. She slid her finger across the screen and opened the message. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. She already knew the economics lesson the crazy coach was shouting.

'Allison, we need to talk about Lydia.'

So no one had told Stiles that she had Allison's phone. The text was about her, so Lydia responded. It was fair game. Allison had never told her she couldn't respond. She just told her how to respond. As if she were Allison. She was only following orders. 'What about? What's wrong?' Maybe she could get her questions answered finally.

'She needs to know. About all of it.'

She watched the phone, smiling at the response. 'All of what?' She asked, keeping the rambling coach in her line of sight. She kept Stiles there too. For grounded boys they sure were allowed to have their phones. Someone didn't have strict parents.

'You know what.' Stiles responded. 'About Scott and the kanima, you. She needs to know about Peter Hale.'

Lydia felt her blood go cold in her veins, the sound of it rushing in her ears. Loud. Echoing. Like a jet engine. The kanima? Peter Hale? Allison was involved with him? She knew about him? And she wouldn't tell her? What was going on? She turned the phone off, not even bothering to delete the messages. Allison was the secret keeper her, not her. She stared blankly at the board ahead of her, not even registering what was being written. Her mind was somewhere else.

'Allison?'

Scott looked over to his friend, then the phone in his lap. Stiles mouthed something and he mouthed something back and Stiles looked back at her. She darted her eyes away. Well great. Just like Scott McCall to ruin everything with his new found sense of awareness. Or maybe give her a bit of footing. She smirked.

She kept her head down as Coach Flinstock spoke, toying with her pen as she thought over her game plan. "Now economics has a lot of rules, but there are only three rules that I live by kids: never get less than twelve hours sleep, never play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city, and never get involved with a woman with a tattoo of a dagger on her body. Now you stick to that, and everything else is cream cheese." The bell rang and Lydia was the first out the door, Scott and Stiles watching her go.

.

...

She found the two boys easily at their signature little lunch table. She sat at the head of the table, crossing her arms and tapping her heel clad foot. Allison's phone was in her hand, clenched tightly. Thank God for touch screens or else her grip would have sent buttons flying. She kept a sharp smile on her face as Stiles sat down slowly. Very slowly. Carefully.

She flicked her eyes up as the brunette girl walked pass them, in hearing range. "Allison will be meeting us after school at my house. I want to know every single thing." The girl whipped her head around, and Lydia raised a brow. She wouldn't say no. She kept her gaze, waiting for Allison to look away. The girl did, looking away and darting off. Where she went, Lydia didn't really care. As long as she got her ass in her car when that bell rang.

Scott shook his head, pushing his plate away. He could hear mumbles from across the room. About Lydia at their table. Why was it such a big deal? Someone mentioned Stiles house. "I can't be there," he told her, looking across the table to his best friend. Stiles was nervous. Very nervous. He could smell it. "I'm grounded. From Stiles." He was allowed to go to practice, work, and school. They weren't even allowed to have lunch together.

Stiles shrugged, looking over at Lydia. It had been his message that told her. He should have known. What with Scott smiling at his phone. "And you know I'm grounded, from life." He told her. He needed Scott to tell her. He needed Allison to tell her. What could he possibly say? What could he do to make her believe, except show her Scott. Fangs, claws, glowing eyes.

Lydia sighed, shaking her head. Didn't they get it? She didn't care about their little inconveniences. All she cared about were her answers. She wanted to know what was going on. "Sorry Charlie, not my problem." She smiled, leaning back in the chair. Her foot kept tapping, Scott's hand twitching along with it. Strange. "You'll be there or I will drag you there by your split ends. And that is a really long way to be dragged. Okay?" She threatened, keeping a smile on her face. No need to have anyone thinking she wasn't peachy keen. She stood slowly, leaving her untouched tray and tossing her hair back.

Stiles watched her go. Scott turned to him, eyes narrowed as his friend sunk down in his chair. "Why does Lydia Martin smell like you?" He asked, clenching his jaw. Underneath her perfume had been the distinct scent of Stiles. Not just in her hair, it had clung to her every inch like a second skin. But Stiles only barely smelled like her...

His friend shrugged, looking down at his plate. "Axe three-in-one is highly convenient?" Scott gave him a leveled look.

.

...

Allison frowned as she sat down at the table she usually shared with Lydia. She idly pushed her food around, opening her water bottle, setting it back down. She sighed.

What Lydia wanted, Lydia got. And she didn't know if what Lydia wanted was good for her. The answers the strawberry blonde wanted would only make her life tougher. Allison rubbed her brow, a headache was brewing. She felt someone behind her, the skills her father had been teaching her kicking in.

The office runner taped her on the shoulder, "You're needed in the principal's office." She whispered. Of course she was. Of course. After last night's line of questioning she was waiting for the Princess Diana Hymen test. Golden.

Her mother wasn't manning the front desk and so Allison went right in without knocking. She sunk down in the chair across from her Grandfather's desk. She fondly remembered the days when she was never called into this office. She missed those days. Sometimes she dreamed of them.

The desk chair spun and she found her mother in it. Just great. Wonderful. Allison sunk deeper in the chair, her headache was back. Throbbing heavy behind her eyes."The tape was missing." Her Mother snapped, her voice sharp and thick with accusation. As if Allison had done it.

As if. "I can hardly use Google, mom. I'm not capable of hacking into the school system." Allison grumbled, crossing her arms. Lydia's phone sent of a short vibration. She glared at it in her pocket. That's what started all this. Her headache. Lydia and her need for knowledge. She sighed. It wasn't Lydia's fault. It wasn't anyone's really. It was this messes fault. Werewolves and monsters. They shouldn't even exist. She shouldn't have to tell anyone About things she didn't even want to know! And there was the root of it all. She didn't want to tell Lydia because she didn't even want to know.

She didn't want to ruin anyone else.

Her mother was talking again, jarring her. "We know who the Kanima is, Allison." She said and watched as her daughter went still. She knew. She'd always known. She was such a foolish girl sometimes. "There were five children in that room, Allison. You, Scott, Stiles, Jackson, Matt, and Erica. We know you're clean and so is the strange one. Scott and the other girl are werewolves, Matt is nothing. But Jackson..." off and her daughter kept her face blank. She was getting better. Bit not that good. "Your Father caught Jackson at Derek Hale's house. He stopped him the first time, but it seems he couldn't the second." She leaned back in her chair, watching as her daughter's face turned pleading.

"Mom. Please you can't kill him." Allison had tried to stop this. She tried so damn hard. But she couldn't. They'd found out. She lied and they'd still found out. She felt her eyes water. They'd kill him with no remorse.

Her mother shook her head, wondering how she'd raised such a fool. "Allison, sweetie. He's a monster. He's killed." It meant that the boy was theirs now. Free game by the rules. Gerard may have been ignoring the rules in his state over Kate, but she wasn't. There was a reason the women made the choices. Men got too caught up over little foolish things.

Allison stood, shaking her head. This wasn't right! He didn't mean to! "He's being controlled by someone else!" She defended, holding out her hands. "He can't help it!" Someone was making him do these things. And the people who he killed were murderers anyway, right?

Her Mother looked taken aback, her eyes wide. "How do you know that?" There was no way her daughter could access those files. Gerard kept them hidden. Like she said, she could hardly use Google...right?

"The bestiary. Lydia, she translated it." Allison admitted, shrugging her shoulders. She didn't offer any other explanation. She definitely didn't tell her mother that she'd pickpocketed her grandfather. That was just something that no one needed to know. It was a necessary evil but it was a very messed up evil.

Victoria leaned forward, a serious look on her face as she watched her daughter. Some secrets she could excuse, but this? "Do you know who it is?" She asked, clenching her jaw tightly. "The kanima's master. Do you know?" So help her, if Allison was keeping secrets. This was beyond the girl's depth. This was a strong monster that had no idea what it was doing.

"No." Allison answered, shaking her head. Not for lack of trying, she thought. "But it has to be someone who could access the school's mainframe. Someone with school codes and knowledge in video." Someone who knew she frowned, racking her brain.

"Someone who knew what was happening." Victoria added, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms as she thought out loud. Who though? "A faculty memeber." That was it. Someone on who'd have school codes, school records, medical records. Someone who knew things no one else did and could keep a close eye on the kids.

Allison nodded, heading for the door. She had to get back. She closed her hand on the cold metal knob, her grip harsh and her throat tight. "Awhile back you asked me what was more important." She reminded her mother, biting her lip to keep it from shaking. Her head pounded her eyes watered. "Me dating Scott or killing a sixteen year old boy." She turned and met her mother's eyes. "What's more important here, Mom? Finding the man who controls the monster, who forces a confused child to kill night after night? Or killing a sixteen year old boy? "

.  
..

Lydia's smile slipped as she walked into the hall. Jackson took step beside her, his stomping foot falls telling her about his current mood. Something had twisted up his panties. She could only guess. "Why was your car at Stiles house last night?" He growled, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop. Lydia sighed. This old hat trick.

She smiled, turning to face him with an innocent look on her face. "Why is it any of your business?" She asked sugary sweet. It really wasn't. He'd dropped her. He'd asked for his key back. And he'd kissed her. God had he'd kissed her. "I thought you were done with me? Dead weight, remember?" She shook of his hand, placing hers on her hips in a defiant stance. Or did he forget that wonderful little speech?

Jackson growled, leaning forward. He turned his face, taking a deep breath of her. "I can smell him on you. You reek of him." He hissed, the stench of Stiles all over her. It was disgusting. Cloying. "What? Couldn't get McCall so you had to drop all the way to his loser best friend? How low, Lydia." He had her against a locker, towering over her. She was glaring back, unafraid. "He must be a weak comparison. I doubt the fumbling idiot could even get you halfway there. He's nothing like me, is he?" He smirked, his eyes sharp.

Lydia smirked back. Exactly. She realized that Stiles was nothing like Jackson. Not a single bit. She licked her lips, meeting his eyes. He took it as a sign to lean forward and she kept her voice whisper soft. "Let's just say this, Jackson, after waking up in his bed I know I won't be crawling out of yours anymore." She placed her hand on his chest, straightening his collar in a familiar gesture before shoving. Hard. He stumbled, shocked. "And at least he doesn't cry afterwards." She threw over her shoulder, walking away with a startling sense of finality that she didn't even realize she could manage.

Erica crackled from across the hall, tossing her blonde head back as the boy glared. He didn't need an audience."Pity Jackson. Seems like your dead weight has left you lonely." She called, darting away the way she'd came. She'd came to talk to Scott for Derek, but wait until she told her Alpha this little bit.

He'd plotz!

Her face fell flat as she walked out the door, calculating. Maybe they could use this. She slipped into the passenger seat of the black Camaro. "I've got news for you." She smiled. Derek matched it.

.

...

"Your Mom won't be home?" Allison asked, parking by the road. It was the first word either of the girl's had spoken, both out in their own minds. Lydia thinking of Jackson and Allison of her mother. Each girl wondering where the good morning had gone. Obviously far far away. Allison tightened her grip on the steering wheel, exhaling.

"No." Lydia muttered to the side mirror, catching her own eyes. Something was there that she didn't recognize anymore. Something harsh. Something confused. She wondered if a darker eye shadow would cover that up. "Stiles will park his car in the garage. As long as your Mother doesn't have a buzzer on you that goes off whenever Lover boy is near, you'll be fine." She told her friend blankly, watching her lips move in reflection. It seemed slower to her. Everything seemed slower.

Allison frowned, she was used to Lydia staring at her reflection but this was off. "Is something wrong?" She asked, studying the back of the girl's red head. She was even sitting different. Not the prim way she usually sat. Her shoulders slumped forward. Allison leaned back in her seat, tired

Lydia turned her eyes and looked at the time on the dash. They had an hour and a half until lacrosse practice ended. Maybe that was enough time. Probably not. "I spent the night away from home from last night," she admitted. Turning in the seat to keep her back to the telling mirror and face Allison."and Jackson found out about it."

Allison nodded, her morning suspicion confirmed. She'd already guessed as much. And by Lydia's sudden sour, she guessed Jackson hadn't been so happy about it. Now only one thing was left out. "Where were you?" She asked, mentally wracking her brain. Lydia hadn't said anything about a boy and she doubted the redhead would go off on a one night stand, right?

Lydia's face went blank. "Stiles's." She answered quietly, turning her eyes away. She hadn't even done anything untowards with him. Why was she looking away? Why did she suddenly feel ill? It was insanity. She could do as she pleased.

Allison gasped,'"St...St...Stiles. Stiles?" She stuttered out. Her eyes wide. She couldn't have...they hadn't? She wouldn't...Stiles wouldn't..."Lydia...did you..." She still had to ask. Part of her didn't want to know.

Lydia's eyes shot back to Allison. Sharp. "Have a mental break down and Chinese food?" She spat, pursing her lips. She popped her jaw, crossing her arms around her. "I was alone in his bed when the clock struck twelve though." Her voice went low and she leaned back against the car door. Looking over Allison's shoulder she watched the cars pass. One blue, one green. A silver. Red. She counted ten of them until Allison finally spoke again.

"What's going on with you?" She asked, hushed in the car interior. Something was wrong. So wrong. Allison didn't know what, but it was there. Behind Lydia's eyes there was a spark of something colder than usual. The same thing that made them all think she could be the kanima.

Lydia sneered, meeting Allison's eyes and watching as the other girl turned away. "Nothing heavy meds can't fix." She sniped, raising her brows. Allison kept her eyes any where but hers. Heavy. Away. Evasive.

Allison shook her head, "No. That's not the answer I want." She said, looking at Lydia with those poor crazy girl eyes. Lydia felt her stomach turn. "Something is going on and you need to talk about it."

Lydia's smiled sharply, almost a baring of teeth. "I've already talked about it." She snapped, wishing she hadn't even opened her mouth. Of course Allison would turn this into some pseudo psych session. "One person knowing is more than enough." She needed to bottle this all in. To keep it inside and keep her perfect facade. She couldn't write backwards on the board anymore.

"You talked to Stiles." Allison guessed, wondering how she could possibly be a worse friend. All because she didn't want to share.

"Yes."

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

Lydia watched her. "Don't worry Allison. We'll be even soon enough." She watched as the blue Jeep pulled up, she smirked as she pressed the garage button. "See. Mommy never has to know." She pulled the door open and stepped out.

.

...

An: I don't know why, but I can write these chapters much easier. But I hate writing Victoria Argent. She needs to find a new show and cross over to it. Her and her pencil sharpener of castration threats. I'm stuck with Crave at the moment though, like gum. But hey! Tonight is Teen Wolf new episode! Oh yeah.

...


	3. Nightmare, Nightmare

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

An: Yeah. So I'm going to apologize for my lack of posting these past two days! But I've been caught up writing little bits and pieces of other chapters. I have some high hopes for future chapters and keep getting these little snippets I've had the end of this written since yesterday. And Im sorry to say that Crave will be on hiatus, because its just gotten off. But you guys and your reviews? I'm not worthy! Oh my Lovecraft! Y'all make me blush. Language and violence coming up. Enjoy.

.

...

Stiles cringed, eating dirt as Jackson swiped his legs out from under him. Again. At least he was aiming above the waist now. He dug his fingers into the dirt, causing tracks as he glared up at the other boy. Jackson stared down from behind the grate of his helmet, his chest heaving and his eyes angry. Everyone on the feild had gone still, waiting for the boy on the ground to stand. To see if he would after getting knocked down for the ninteenth time. Stiles did, tearing his helmet off and throwing it down. "What the hell is going on with you man!" He shouted, stepping forward. Fifty yards be damned, whatever was wrong with Jackson he was ruining his practice. Stiles had enough to deal with today. He didn't need Jackson's angry teenage dream ass on him too.

Jackson tore his own helmet off, throwing it far too hard. It left a crack in the plastic. Kanima took a step back, his eyes searching out Scott in the crowd of on lookers. If Jackson grew scales, the world would know. They couldn't hide it. "How long you think she'll keep fucking you?" Jackson hissed, stepping forward as Stiles stepped back again. His hands were shaking. Jackson was sweating. Hard. Not practice hard, beyond it. Drenching. "Huh? A week? A month? How long do most whores stay?" He spat, his whole body was shaking now.

Stiles growled, shaking his head. He took off his gloves, his hands shaking now. "Don't talk about her like that." He warned, stepping forward. His jaw was tight and something dark was in his eyes. "I won't let you."

Jackson gave harsh bark of a laugh, a crazed noise as he stepped chest to chest with the other boy. "Talk about her how? Like she's a whore? That's what she is, don't you see? She's a manipulative little whore who's only using you." He shook his head, that asshole grin on his face. Stiles saw red. "And what are you gonna do, Stiles? You're just too weak to do anything. You gonna have Scott fight me?" He snorted, watching as Stiles flicked his eyes to Scott.

It wasn't in fear though. It was in warning.

"No." Stiles told him, popping his jaw. "No. I'm gonna kick your ass myself."

This first blow thrown was quick, Stiles landing a solid blow to the center of Jackson's face. He felt his nose crunch below his fist, Jackson's head snapping back from the force. The second blow wasn't quick enough, Jackson recovering and giving a wide swung left hook to the right side of his face. It went numb, then bloomed. Pain radiating from his eye. Stiles managed another swing, colliding with Jackson's jaw before Scott tackled and pinned him to the ground.

"Enough! Stiles!" Scott shouted, holding him down the same way Danny was holding Jackson. By the shoulders with a heavy knee on then center of his chest. The other boy's eyes flashed and Scott and Stiles froze. After a long second they returned to normal, Jackson shouting threats as Danny held him down.

Coach Flinstock threw his clip board down between them, taking in Jackson's pouring nose and Stiles's swelling face. He pointed an angry finger. "Biles! McCall! Leave the damn field!" He swore, waving his hands wildly. "Son of a bi- go back to practice the rest of you, Danny get Jackson somewhere else to bleed. I don't care. Go!" He turned his head, "And whoever tells the principal about this is off the damn team! I don't need any more damn trouble!"

.

...

Scott drove, his car staying at school and Stiles holding a bag of ice from the Quick Stop to his bruising face. "That was stupid, you know that right?" The Were asked, slowing down as they entered the suburbs. "What if he had gone kanima on you? He's strong, Stiles." He sounded worried and Stiles felt miserable. It had been stupid. For once Scott was right. He sunk lower in the seat at the thought. Hadn't Scott just fought Jackson? Like, yesterday?

The bruised boy shifted the ice on his face, "Yeah. I know." He muttered, watching the houses go by and keeping Scott in the corner of his eye. "But I couldn't let him talk about her. Not like that." He didn't regret hitting the other boy, he did however regret getting hit by him. And taking his gloves off to hit him. His knuckles were bruised and swelling, they hurt. Bad. He weakly held up his hand to Scott. "Any chance you can like, lick this better?" He asked, waving his fingers imploring the other boy.

Scott mock gagged as the scent of blood hit his nose, knocking his friend's hand away with his elbow as he kept both hands on wheel. "Gross dude. I'm not gonna lick your wounds like a dog." He told him, not even shocked that his boundary stepping friend had asked. Stiles let his hand drop pitifully. Scott laughed at the downed look on his face.

"Come on man, at least try." He moaned pitifully. They really hurt. The bruises were beginning to turn, from red to purple. Swelling large and painful, he tried to wiggle them but couldn't. He laid the ice on them. "I'll never play the harp again." He mourned, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. Scott didn't even care. He just laughed.

He stopped at a red sign, watching a couple on a bike pass. Two cars. Silver. Red. "Find someone else to slobber on your hands." He threw at his friend. Something hit him "And you can't play the harp, dumbass." The harp? Really? The harp?

Stiles three his fine hand up, shaking it. "And now I never will! Oh the things I have lost!" He sank back down in his seat dramatically, covering his face with his hand. Scott kept his eyes on the high class suburb road, refusing to laugh and further encourage his friend. Suddenly Stiles looked through the fingers on his face. "You think Alpha spit would work better? For wound healing?"

Scott almost drove off the road, nearly taking out a mailbox that was a replica of the house it was for. He bet that was expensive. He watched Stiles out the corner of his eye. "I will give you everything I own if you ask Derek Hale to lick your wounds." He said seriously, imagining the man's face if his best friend offered him the wounds. It would be worth loosing a limb. "I think Jackson knocked something loose in there." He told him, watching the darkening bruise form on Stiles's eye and brow. The ice and aspirin had contained the swelling but nothing could stop the bruise that was coloring dark under his flesh.

Stiles poked at his face, sucking in a breath at the sharp pain it caused. That was gonna be a bitch later. How was he going to explain this to his Dad? "Yeah. Probably." He agreed absently, trying not to prode at his wound. He turned to Scott, trying not to raise his brow. "Who knew monsters with supernatural strength hit so hard?" He snarked, knowing they were nearing their destination. "Let's not tell Lydia that Jackson did this." He told his friend.

Scott agreed, wholeheartedly. His hands tightened on the wheel. "Let's just turn around, go home, and not tell Lydia anything. Ever." He suggested, wanting to pull a u-turn and turn back. He knew this great reveal wouldn't go well. It was going to be a disaster. His was a very dangerous secret. It didn't help anyone that knew. It only made things worse.

Stiles joking mood dissolved as he rubbed a hand down the side of his unbruised face. He shook his head, disagreeing with his best friend. "No man. We've got to tell her. She needs to know." He said, his voice down and his shoulders hunched. Lydia's face ran through his mind. Tear stained. Panicked. Unconscious. Wide eyed. He had to tell her. She had to know. It wasn't fair to lie to her like this. To let her think that there was even the slightest possibility that Peter Hale could get her. Because he couldn't.

Scott sighed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he took a curve. "Why are you pushing for this?" He asked, but he already knew the answer. Because she was Lydia. Because Stiles had loved her since the third grade and he couldn't stand for her to not get what she wanted. Scott knew he'd stood up to Peter for her. And just fifteen minutes ago, he'd stood up to Jackson. He was in stupid-love with Lydia, but Scott couldn't say anything. Dating an Argent in secret as he was.

Stiles shrugged under his lacrosse practice jersey, Danny had thrown them their things while he nursed Jackson's broken nose. They hadn't had time to shower or change. Changing in a locker room together was one thing, changing in the backseat? That was a new level of friendship. One that Stiles hadn't given them a chance to reach, demand he get to

Lydia's. And some ice and aspirin. Definitely ice first. Then Lydia. "Cause, she's sick and us keeping this all a secret isn't helping her mind." He didn't say more. He didn't want to betray her anymore than he had to. Her secrets were hers, Scott didn't need to know about her crying. It wouldn't be fair to her. She'd trusted him with that, even knowing he wasn't completely honest with her. He wasn't throwing that away. Ever.

Scott frowned at this, it wasn't the answer he was expecting. He was expecting some nonsense excuse. Not this. "And you think telling her about monsters is going to help?" He asked, they were close now. To Lydia's. He wanted to turn around. Something in his gut screamed that he should. It was dangerous. He'd already made a deal with one devil, he didn't want a second one in the mix. He'd sold his soul once already.

Stiles looked at him nervously, mirroring his feelings. "Okay, maybe we don't use the word 'monster'?" He suggested, scrunching his nose. He had blood on his shirt. A smear of it on the white of his shirt. Great. He was going to the girl he loved to talk about werewolves, sweaty, bruised and bloody. "Maybe we say you turn into a puppy. A nice Labrador retriever. A poodle. A shih tzuh." He offered.

Scott pulled into Lydia's driveway. He saw Allison's car on the side. The garage door slid open and he pulled in. He turned to his friend with a grin. "And Jackson turns into the Giaco Gecko."

Stiles opened his door, "In fifteen minutes or less."

.

...

Lydia stared at the trio that sat on her couch. Scott and Stiles looking down, Allison looking beyond her shoulder. Lydia waited. "I didn't invite you here to give my couch grass stains." She raised a brow, sitting across from them all in her arm chair. Allison jumped at the sound of her voice, as if she'd forgotten where she was. She looked up with wide brown eyes.

"It wasn't really an invitation." Stiles told her, nervously licking his lips. He shrugged, "It was more of a demand."

Lydia frowned, looking at him for a long moment. "What happened to your head?" She asked, looking at the bruises getting darker even now. He looked like he'd been bashed a good one, his hands hidden together.

"My Father dropped me when I was young." He answered seriously. Lydia hm'd nodding as if it weren't a surprise at all. Scott looked at him for a long second.

"The best way to start a story is from the beginning." Lydia offered, growing tired of the waiting. She tucked her legs under her in the chair, her heels before her on the floor. She mint as well get comfortable if they were going to make her wait for a decade. She didn't think I would be this hard once she got them here. She was a patient girl, but this was beyond it.

Scott looked around, scrubbing a hand on the back of his neck. It was his job to spill it. After all, he was the wolf here. Shouldn't he be a little more courageous here? He was a werewolf. She was a girl. Tiny. Five foot three. He looked up to meet her eyes and remembered who she was. Lydia Martin. Of course he was turning into the cowardly lion. "Awhile back, me and Stiles...we were in the woods, at night...around the Preserve." He started, nervous. His mouth was dry. Stiles was lax beside him, but Allison radiated tension.

Lydia filled the silence he created, twirling her hair around her finger. "What were you doing?" She asked, raising a brow. She couldn't take the silence, it hurt her ears, her hands clenching the arms of the couch in a white knuckles grip that almost hurt.

Stiles answered her, looking up from his knees to meet her eyes. Finally someone was looking at her When they spoke. "Looking for a dead body." He said, noticing the edge in her eyes. Allison looked over at him, obviously she didn't know the full story either. He shrugged at Lydia's blank look. Like she couldn't possibly imagine traipsing in the woods...looking for half a dead body...okay, maybe it was a little off he admitted. "I had heard that the police had found half a dead body in the woods, I figured me and Scott should go see it. We didn't find it, but my Dad found me. Scott was able to hide." He told her looking at his friend to pass the story torch. It was his turn again.

Scott frowned at the memory, fisting the material of his training shorts in his hands."But something else found me." He said quietly, remembering it with startling clarity. He knew why Lydia lost her mind after it attacked in the rental store. It was terrifying. Heart stopping. He shook his head at the thought, trying to clear it of images he'd rather forget. "I was attacked by something. The same thing that you saw. The 'mountain lion'." He spat spitefully, if only it had been some random animal. If only. He'd take the scar to save the pain this mess caused. "It bit me."

Lydia stayed quite during the pause, but her face fell white. Her eyes wide and her breath catching. Stiles watched her carefully, waiting for any sign that they should stop. Any sign that she couldn't take anymore. Scott continued. "After that, weird things started happening. I was stronger, faster. I could hear and smell things..." He still could, he could hear the quickening of the beat of her heart. He could smell the anxiety on Allison. The worry on Stiles. "That night, me and Stiles went back to the woods. I'd lost my inhaler the night before."

Lydia looked at him, confused. If he'd lost his inhaler... "Why didn't you use the one you have at Stiles?" She asked, it seemed a simple solution. Why go back to the scene of your attack if you didn't have to? She would have suffocated first. She still didn't like the field.

Scott looked over at his friend in confusion, Allison just looked at Lydia. An unreadable expression on her face. Lydia met it with one of her own. "Yeah. I've still got it." Stiles defended, wondering what else Lydia had seen in his cabinet. But maybe it wasn't so foolish to keep, not after the Kanima had caused Erica to relapse into her epilepsy. What would they do if Scott stopped breathing because of the poison? It was a good thing to keep on him. He continued the story, blindly staring forward as he thought about that night. "We didn't find it," he said, "but we did find Derek Hale. That's how all this started. His family. The fire that killed most of them. Allison's family and her connection."

Scott leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He remembered Stiles talking about Derek. Explaining who he was. "Peter Hale was the one that bit me in the woods that night." He told Lydia, watching as she closed her eyes and turned away. It hit too hard for her. Too close to home. Peter had caused a lot of pain in search for his revenge. "He's also the one that killed Laura Hale, in an effort to draw Derek in. Back home. It also drew in the hunters. The Argent's." Lydia looked over at Allison, it was her turn to turn away. To close her eyes from the story. But here came the hard part. "The Hales...they're werewolves. Peter Hale bit me and it turned me into a werewolf."

Lydia felt her face fall as Scott finished his little story, told his last line. He must have thought her stupid. Crazy. Crazy Lydia. She writes backwards and believes in anything. "A werewolf? Like The Wolf Man? Teen Wolf?" She mocked, shaking her head. The three of them were looking at her now as she gave a bitter laugh. Stiles knew this would happen. That she wouldn't believe it. Of course she wouldn't. How could she? It was crazy. Werewolves. "And you want me to believe this?" She challenged, Scott nodded. He had kind of...expected her to. Just come out and accept it. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. He couldn't catch a break. "Prove it." Lydia demanded.

Scott frowned. He couldn't really control the change, he couldn't bring it on like Derek could. He could change his eyes, barely. That wouldn't be enough. He couldn't force it though. But he had to try. He thought about changing. He thought about how he looked...he thought about Allison. He thought about Allison screaming, that night at Isaac's. The kanima staring her down. He thought about Jackson, attacking her. Her heart pounding fast. The sound of it echoing in his ears.

He could still smell the fear.

No, no. That wasn't Allison's...it was Lydia's.

It was filling the space, thick and harsh. Of course she was afraid. Terrified. He was a monster.

Those teeth. Lydia had seen the chang happeninge. His face shifting. Pulling. His eyes lighting up in some animal gold, differen, strange. His nails, long claws cutting through his fingers. Fur. Hair. Thick. Covering his face. But it was his teeth. Those teeth. That made her heart stall. Her face go white as fear crawled through her. They weren't his teeth, the crooked sharp stakes that cut through her skin, but they were close. Straighter. Not as sharp. But different, monstrous. It made it all real. Too real. Monsters were real. They were here. They could get her. He was a monster.

Stiles watched the fear was over Lydia's face. Watch as her bottom lip trembled and she moved back in the chair. Her back ridged. He elbowed Scott, waving a hand over his face. Scott got the picture. Allison slipped her hand in his, careful of his claws against her hand. Lydia kept watching. Unable to look away as the hair on Scott's face moved back and those horrible teeth turned back to normal. His eyes flashed back and she met them. There was worry in his. Worry about the fear in hers. Stiles mirrored that, he wanted to go to her. Hold her hand. Tell her it was alright...

But it wasn't alright. As hard as he tried he couldn't lie. It wasn't okay and he didn't know how long it was going to be until it was. They were trying, but they were failing.

Lydia kept her eyes in Scott, waiting for him to turn back. To change into that monster again. "The Argent's...they hunt you?" She asked, studying Allison. The other girl kept her eyes down, watching her hands. It explained a lot. The bow and arrow mainly. The crazy Aunt burning down a family home. How strange her mother is. She shook her head, Allison wasn't really answering anytime soon it seemed. She just kept her hand in Scott's. Lydia rolled her eyes, "Whatever." It was stupid they were even together now that she thought about it. She shook her head. She couldn't focus on that. On werewolves. She could get down to the bits later, now she only wanted the bullet points. Before she lost it. "Peter Hale, you were hunting him..." she trailed off. If there were hunters then maybe...maybe they'd caught him

Scott shook his head, "They didn't catch him. We tried, I knew that if...That if I killed him...I wouldn't be this." But he still was. He was still a werewolf. Lydia's face fell, he was still out there. "I didn't get the chance to, neither did the Argents. Derek Hale killed him."

Lydia sunk back in her chair, sighing. Peter Hale was dead. Dead. Dead. Oh God. "Is Jackson... Jackson is the kanima." Lydia froze. "The kanima." She echoed softly, remembering what she had translated. He was a monster. It was fitting she assumed. Cold murderous. His chance to be a normal monster spoiled by the fact that he couldn't let go. That he was so angry. That he was bitter and evil. Yes, she nodded. It was fitting that Jackson turned into this evil reptile monster. She bet he went for it too. The bite. She bet he searched it out. I'm cutting out the dead weight. Yes. He went for the change, she knew he did.

"But he can be turned back to a werewolf, changed to normal...we've just got to catch him and find out who's controlling him." Scott spoke, but she wasn't listening anymore.

She stood, staring at the trio down her nose. They all looked up at her, worried still. "I think you should go now." She said coldly, watching as Allison opened her mouth to argue. Lydia silenced her with a raised hand. "All of you." She spat, turning to walk out.

Scott turned to his friend, "She took that well." He muttered, Watching his friend rise from the couch.

"Give me a minute." He told the pair, knowing they wouldn't really argue With the chance to be alone. He followed Lydia's path, walking up the stairs. He remembered where her bedroom was.

She changed her bedding. A dark purple.

He watched as she picked up the familiar orange bottle from its spot nestled in the arms of her stuffed giraffe. Not a mountain lion. She shook three out of the bottle, shifting them into her palm. She took them dry, a practiced swallow.

"Lydia. Understand, we didn't tell you to protect you." He watched as she opened her dresser, grabbing at clothes and throwing them on the bed behind her. She didn't look at him, or even acknowledge that She'd heard him. Just went about her business, taking off her jewelry. Placing it in a little box. Emptying her pockets. "Lydia...please."

She turned, but didn't look at him. Just hummed, walking to the bed. She started to shrug out of her cardigan. When she pulled her dress over her head in one smooth move, Stiles turned to face the wall. She threw her cardigan at his back, pulling her night dress over her head. She felt the anger finally rise. "What I understand is that you lied to me." She spat, glaring at his back. She thought about kicking him. "Peter Hale was dead this whole time and no one bothered to tell me!" She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. It was all too much. Just too much. God, it was so much to take.

Stiles spun to her, his face hurt. He didn't want to lie to her. But he had to. He had to because he couldn't think if any other answer. "How was I supposed to explain this?" He asked, throwing his hand up in the air. How could he? Sometimes he woke up, hardly believing it himself. "Any of this?" He shook his head slowly. "I didn't want to tell you, but we had to. You had to know that Peter was dead. I couldn't let you believe that he could get you."

Lydia frowned, the anger leeching out of her. How could she when he was looking at her like that? She thought about slapping him. But the bruises on his face stopped her, that black eye. "Who hit you?" She asked quietly, watching his face. Shock filtered over that unrecognizable look he always had. She stepped forward, closer to him. Watching his eyes. She grabbed his hand, holding up the battered knuckles. The cuts matched hers, the wounds she'd gotten from smashing her mirror. The battered knuckles. He'd fought back. Good.

His face fell, cringing as she dragged her nails between the knuckles of his swelling hand. But she was touching him, he didn't pull away. "Jackson." He answered, hissing as she hit a particularly harsh spot.

Lydia looked up at him from under her lashes, raising a brow. "Why?" She asked, already guessing the answer. She knew. Of course she knew. Jackson was jealous. She'm hadn't expected him to hit Stiles though, he hadn't hit Scott. Or even questioned her smeared lipstick. Just a silent accusation.

Stiles held her gaze, his heart beating a million miles an hour. She looked so perfect, his stomach soured as he replayed what Jackson had said about her. Had called her. "He said something I didn't like." He admitted, leaving out the rest. He didn't want her to know. Let her think they disagreed over anything else.

Lydia took another step forward, cupping his cheek. Stiles felt his eyes flutter, fighting the urge to lean into her hand. "It was about me, wasn't it?" She smiled, running the back of her hand against his bruise. The blackened center of it, Stiles licked his lips. Nervous. "I told him I was in your bed last night." She whispered, watching as his eyes flashed open. She smirked.

Stiles frowned, "You were in my bed last night." He told her, not connecting it. He was proud of himself for not stuttering as her nails scraped his temple. Light. She was acting strange.

Lydia leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper."He thinks I slept with you. He said I smell like you." She shared, grinning. Her eyes sparkled.

Stiles suddenly remembered why she had been in his bed last night. How frail she'd been. Scared. He grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his face."Lydia. I never wanted you to get hurt. I never want you to hurt. Its why I didn't tell you." He said, watching as the grin slipped from her face. She didn't frown though. Just watched. "In the hospital, you were so...I was so worried. I thought if you knew about all this, I didn't even think about Peter. Just you." He let go of her hand, rubbing his brow. He could feel a migraine coming on. "It was stupid." He admitted.

Lydia watched him, watched the conflicting emotions behind his pretty eyes. And they were so pretty. They sparkled. She licked her lips, processing what he was saying. "I'd do anything to keep you safe." He looked so honest when he spoke. So real. She watched the way he kept her gaze, his hands by his side. She turned her head, committing the sincerity of his face to memory. Had she every really looked at him? Really looked at him? Had she ever had anyone look at her like that? That weird look in his eyes that she really couldn't name. She slid her arms fall around his neck, her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating fast in his chest. Jackson's heart had never beat that fast, had it? No. She held tighter and he put his hands on her waist, a light hold. Unsure. She felt them shake. Nervous.

"L-lydia?" Stiles stuttered, looking down at the top of her head. He knew the pills didn't kick in the fast. He didn't know what was going on. She was acting strange, off. Like maybe...maybe she liked...

Lydia cut his through his thought, pulling back. She scratched a finger nail at a stain in his chest. Feeling the hammering in his chest. She smiled, soft. Stiles frowned. "Thanks for defending my honor, Stiles." She looked up, meeting his eyes. She stepped back, smiling still. "Now, get out." She turned back to her dresser, grabbing her keys from it. "Pick it up for me, will you." It wasn't a

request. She winked, shoving the keys in his pocket.

Stiles went wide eyed, his mouth twitching as he tried to think of something, anything, to say as she pulled her hand from his pocket. He coughed, "W-will you be fine alone?" He asked, looking over her shoulder at the orange bottle on her night stand. He remembered the way she'd been the last time she took a dose of those. Loopy. Dry mouthed. Gone.

Lydia spun away, collapsing back onto the bed. She smiled up at him, her head on the pillow. She waved her fingers in goodbye. "I'm always fine." She promised.

Stiles did not disagree.

.

...

She was running. Hard. As fast as she could go. Her legs ached, but something was chasing her. It was fast. So fast. She couldn't out run it. She wasn't fast enough. Her feet couldn't move that fast. Her feet...she was barefoot.

She was in the woods. Why was she in the woods? Her bare feet hurt, they bled and stung. But she couldn't stop. If she stopped, he could catch her. He'd get her if she stopped. She could feel the breath on the back of her neck. Hot. So hot it burned. She was sweating. She couldn't breathe. It was so hot.

Why was it so hot?

The was a house, a clearing. It was burned, ruined. But it was shelter. She could hide. Hide from what ever was chasing her. It couldn't get her if she could hide. She could hide. She could crawl somewhere where it couldn't find her. Where he couldn't find her.

She hit the door, slamming it behind her. The knob, it was hot. On fire. Red with heated metal. It burned her fingers as she laced the locks, twisting them. Why were they so hot? Why was it so hot? She heard screams, men, women, and children.

She heard howls. They shook the broken windows in their panes and outside the thing chasing her, it howled back. Mournful. Sad. Broken.

The fire was everywhere. She could smell the smoke, burning flesh and hair. She was choking on it, trying to crawl low. Under the smoke like they'd taught her in school. She scrambled, backing herself into a corner. God, the screams. The howls. They were so loud. So loud. It hurt her ears. She screamed, wrapping her arms around her head. She couldn't stop. She couldn't breathe. The fire...it was going to get her. It was so close.

It...it was raining. Water drenched her and she tumbled away from it, slipping and sliding against something slick. Hard. She wasn't in the house anymore, she was in the bathroom of the hospital. Curled in the corner of the shower. The water beating down on her warm like blood.

He was at the door, beating on it. Scratching. Calling her name. Drawing it out like a purr. Lydia. Lydia. Lyyydiaaahh. He was screaming it. So loud it hurt her ears. Louder than the screams. The howls. The door shook on its hinges and she tried to scream. She couldn't. She couldn't scream anymore. She couldn't open her mouth. She turned to the mirror, scrambling to it as she slid against the slick floor. Blood. Their was blood on the floor. It was everywhere. It was on her. It covered her. She tried to scream again. She looked in the mirror. Barbed wire. Rusted and bloodied it filled her mouth, dark blood crusting over and she choked on the metallic tang of it. Salt and pennies. She pulled at it, tugging it through her mouth. Chunks of flesh pulling. It hurt. It kept coming. More and more. Where was it coming from? The pile grew, filling the sink. Spilling over. So much blood. Everywhere. It pulled free and she finally got to scream. Her teeth. Her...her teeth. His teeth. They were his teeth. Sharp like daggers, crooked and deadly. The scars on her shoulder opened, bleeding freely. She screamed. Screamed. Screamed for anyone who would listen. Please. Please. Please. Why aren't you helping me? Where is everyone? Why weren't they coming for her? Why couldn't anyone hear her? Please. Please. No one was coming. No one was there. No one could hear her. He laughed from behind the door, a crazed crackled that filled her ears. She clapped her hands over her mouth, hiding those teeth as the cut her mouth, collapsing on the floor as she screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

"You can't be here! You aren't real anymore!" She sobbed shaking her head wildly. Blood was in her hair, it speckled the walls as she shook. "You're dead! He killed you! You're not real! You're not alive!" The room flickered.

The field.

The hospital.

The house, empty and beautiful.

The house, burned and screaming.

The woods.

He was everywhere. A monster. A man. Everywhere. She couldn't escape. She couldn't escape. She screamed, blood choking her mouth. Filling her nose. She couldn't breathe. She was drowning.

He laughed on the other side of the door. The sound of nails scraping on the metal. Harsh. Painful. "Oh Lydia. Don't you see? You keep me alive." Peter's voice filled the space, echoing along with her screams. "You'll always keep me alive."

She was being shook, the world coming back to her. She was in her room, her mother looking down at her. Sweat was pouring. She fought her blanket, her mother helping. "Lydia honey, you were screaming." Her mother watched her, worry in her eyes. She pushed the hair back from her daughter's face. "You were screaming, sweetheart." She muttered. She'd never been more terrified, looking up to hear her daughter suddenly screaming like someone was butchering her. Her heart had stopped. She didn't know she could run up stairs that fast.

Lydia breathed heavy, leaning against her headboard. She rubbed her fingers against her mouth, tracing her teeth. Nothing. Just dryness and her own teeth. "I had a nightmare..." she muttered, rubbing a hand over her pounding chest. "Just a nightmare." Her mouth felt like sand.

Her mother patted her free hand, giving her a pitying look. "Its a side effect of the sedative you took." She explained, looking over at the half empty bottle of pills. She'd need a refill soon. A refill meant a doctor's appointment. That meant Lydia pouring and angry in the passenger seat during an hour long car ride. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Lydia nodded, trying to lick her lips with a wooden tongue. It was dry. Sand paper. "I'm fine. Always." She muttered, smilin at her own little joke. Her eyes unfocused on the floor as she played his face over in her mind. Prada paced nervously and she patted her hand on the bed, the dog hopped up. She smiled weakly as Prada curled up at her feet.

Her Mother sat something down on the nightstand, next to her bottles and giraffe. Her car keys. "A boy dropped your car off." Her mother said with a gentle smile, watching her daughter carefully. "The Stiles boy." She clarified. "He asked about you." She said, standing up and straightening things around her daughter's room.

Lydia sat up straighter, blinking rapidly to focus her eyes. "He did?" She asked, wondering why she was shocked. Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? Because Jackson had never. That's why. She frowned.

Her Mother straightened her perfumes, moving a hairbrush. "Mhm. Are you hungry?" She asked. Lydia scowled. She didn't want food. She wanted to know what Stiles had asked about. If he had said anything. Why he hadn't checked in her himself. She crossed her arms, pouting. Why hadn't he?

"Not really." Lydia muttered, not catching her Mother's little smile as she picked up her daughter's jacket. Hanging it on a door post. Lydia tried to like her lips again. Nothing. Sand. "Can you get me something to drink?" She rasped, looking up to her mother as she curled back in the bed with Prada at her chest.

Her mother grinned, pulling something off the dresser. "Actually..." she trailed off, holding up a bottle of sweet tea and a package of Reeses'. "The Stiles boy left this. For you." He'd dropped them on her dresser, leaving as he saw she was still passed out. Mrs. Martin had to smile at it all.

Lydia took a sip, toying with the candy. "He...he did?" She asked, not looking up. She didn't know why, but she was blushing. Her mother smiling over at her like she knew some grand secret.

Mrs. Martin leaned against the door jam, smiling. "Mhm." She said, watching her daughter. She had no idea. Her smart girl, so oblivious.

Lydia pulled the wrapper away, tugging out a candy."Oh. That's..." she trailed off, biting into her Reeses'. She didn't really know what it was.

"Sweet?" Mrs. Martin offered, when Lydia looked up to glare, she was already down the hall. Humming.

.

...

An: That nightmare took a lot out of me. I hope I nailed it. Tell me if I didn't. I answer ALL pms. If you've got any questions, send them in. Review, pm, flying paper Crane. Whatever. -Crick.


	4. Take Care

Disclaimer: I don't own teen wolf.

AN: SHE'S TWENTY-ONE! I'm sorry for the wait. Really. I mean, I am so sorry I took so long. I've just had some craziness going on. It involved a water melon for breast cancer, an angry Northerner, hurt feelings, and three bottles of Maker's Mark. But I've buckled down. Locked myself away an written my butt off. And added a very nice ended. Enjoy. Oh and I've got a LOT of inspiration from the song Take Care. Sometimes the Drake version, sometimes the Florence + The Machine version. Either or.

.

...

He hadn't heard from her in days. He'd seen her of course, in school, but she hadn't spoken to him. Occasionally she'd bump him in the hallway, looking as if she was about to say something but then she'd just turn away. Walking off. She didn't even talk to Allison. He'd given her the space she wanted. The space she deserved. It had been hard for him. He wanted so desperately to talk to her. To ask her how she felt. What she thought. He'd even hear her cut him down, just to clear the uncertainty he felt. Anything. He'd let her bash him over the head with his lacrosse stick if it made her happy. She could black his other eye.

Not like his one black eye wasn't catching enough attention. Jackson had a black line across his nose, the cracked bruise of a break. Seems the kanima didn't heal everything.

It was raining when she came over.

.

...

Another night, another nightmare. It had been three days since she'd had a decent night's sleep. Three days since she'd gone to sleep happily. Comfortable.

She hadn't slept well since she'd left his house. Nightmares and terrors, waking up sobbing or sweating. Seeing shadows moving from the corner of her vision. Dreaming of werewolves. Of them chasing her, always about to get her. Of burnt down houses with people screaming inside. Howls.

It had been three days but it felt like a lifetime. Three days. She had bags, ones she could hardly cover with make up. Her sleeping pills didn't help either, they just gave her dry mouth and trapped her in the nightmares. And she always woke up with awful breath. Lydia Martin did not have morning breath. She woke up minty fresh. Always.

Her life drove by in a blur. Home to school back to home, back to school. No change, hardly any socializing. She just couldn't handle it. She'd see Scott, Derek's trio, Jackson, and think: monster. Monster who at any moment could get her. Could rip her to shreds. She couldn't take much more. The idea was just too much for her. Monsters. Out everywhere, running around. Fighting Allison's family. Sometime she broke down, sobbing. Others she lost it, laughing so hard her stomach hurt. All of it was absurd. insanity.

She'd see him at school. She'd see the others too, but mainly she saw him. There was something about him. Something new. Like she'd just discovered him. But then again, she had. She'd never really noticed him before. Even when they spoke he was just Scott's friend. Nothing more.

Now he was more. Somehow. She didn't know what. But he was something to her that she couldn't name.

Someone slipped her a rectangular piece of paper, colorful and bright. A boy she didn't recognize and didn't much care to. He smiled at her, cocky, and she batted her lashes. She picked up the paper, making a show of reading it. It was a ticket for the underground party, the rave everyone was ranting about. The boy said he hoped to see her there and Lydia gave an evasive, but flirtatious answer. She tucked the invite in her purse, it was tonight. And she didn't have any other plans. She definitely didn't plan on going with or even meeting Mr. Eyebrows, even as she looked up from him from under her lashes.

She may have been accepting his ticket to the rave, but she definitely didn't want to play with his glow stick.

Someone bumped her shoulder, knocking her off balance. She didn't fall, just stumbled in her towering heels, turnin to tear them apart she met...Isaac. Isaac Lahey. One of Derek's wolves. A werewolf. He let his eyes slip yellow and winked, a carved smirk on his face. Lydia stomped down on her wide eyed fear but knew. Even if she hid it, he could still smell it. She wanted to smack him. She wanted to scream. She wanted to take off running.

But she didn't, she pulled herself away, walking down the hall as the final bell rang. Home. She wanted to get home and go to bed.

No! She shook herself, pulling out her car keys. No. She wanted to go home and get ready for a party. She wanted to go out and be Lydia, not this poor shadow that she'd turned into.

She caught the eye of her reflection and gave it a sharp smile.

.

...

Allison held her lip in her teeth as she drove, trying desperately not to cry even as tears pooled in her eyes. They were lying to her. All of them. Her family. The people she was supposed to trust. They were going to kill Jackson, not even give him a chance. Not even try to save him! She'd heard.

And she'd learned.

Her watery eyes hardened, her jaw tight as she gripped her steering wheel hard. She learned who was the problem here. She'd be of no help tonight. No, no. She wasn't going to let Jackson be killed by a bunch of old men who wouldn't change their ways. Her father said the daughters were the leader in this family. Tonight she was going to lead.

Her Father already blamed her for one death, she wasn't going to blame herself for another one.

.

...

"Lydia honey, where are you going?" Mrs. Martin poked her head in the door, watching her daughter straighten her lipstick. In that little white lace dress, she hoped her girl was going somewhere warm. And dark. Where no one was that could see her in that dress. She came into the room, leaning against the dresser as her daughter sat at the vanity.

Lydia straightened the long sleeve of her dress, fastening the button on the cotton cuff. "A party." She answered vaguely, scrunching her curls. She caught her mother's worried face in he mirror, "With some friends." She clarified, smiling. According to the wire, everyone was going to be there. So technically she was going with friends.

She was going to dance. And have fun. And be fun. And smile. And laugh. And not think about monsters.

Not a single thought about monsters.

She watched her reflection in the mirror, smearing concealor under her eyes. If her Mother noticed, she didn't comment. Mrs. Martin did notice. But she also noticed that her daughter hadn't been having an easy time as of late. Her commenting on dark rings wouldn't help anything. She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously, "So you're feeling better?" She asked, trying to keep the worry out of her tone. Lydia wouldn't like it.

Lydia hm'd, nodding. "Peachy." She muttered, turning on her chair to pull on her tan heels. Her mother handed her her skirted coat as she stood and Lydia rolled her eyes as she shrugged it on. "Anything you need?" She asked, grabbing her clutch with her ticket in it. She looked over at her Mother and the woman smiled.

"What friends will be there?" She asked, pushing off the dresser. Lydia frowned, shrugging under her coat. Her mother raised a brow, "Will the Stiles boy be there?" She asked, smiling ear to ear.

Lydia watched her mother give her that secretive little grin and Lydia's face went flat. She didn't quite understand it, but she doubted she'd like it. "I'm leaving now." She said, walking out the door. Mrs. Martin watched her leave, still smiling.

.

...

Stiles looked down at the bags as Scott dashed off. Its not like drawing a circle with Ash in the parking lot would draw any attention. But then again, this was a rave. They'd probably think he was just rolling. If they asked what he was doing, he'd shout about unicorns and gorgeous lights. And feels. So many feels.

He chuckled, cutting a hole in the first bag as he started his circuit. He Just had to believe.

You've had the power to go home all along Dorothy.

He poured and walked and poured and walked.

And thought. His Dad was fired. Fired. Because of him. Because of this mess with Jackson. They had to catch him, they had to end this. If they didn't...

.

...

Lydia followed the herd in a haze, walking into the cloud of smoke and lights. It smelled like sweat and future regret. She watched the crowd, bumping into someone as they headed for the door.

Mr. Harris sans his glasses dragged a, seemingly too young, bottle blonde girl behind him. The girl rolled her eyes, "I'm twenty-one." She chirped, walking out. Lydia frowned. Something was...off here. She could feel it in the air. It wasn't just her normal paranoia either. Something was going on. And it was going wrong. She caught sight of Jackson heading to one side of the room and she headed to the other. She found Allison without even looking for her.

.

...

Stiles frowned at the handfull of ash. The last handful he had. Only one.

"You just...gotta believe." He mumbled, closing his eyes.

Believe. He believed in a lot of things. He

believed in patience. He believed in faith.

And he believed that this had to work, because if it didn't he didn't know what else to do.

He opened his eyes as the last last bit fell, the edges meeting. "Yes!"

No if only he could close his eyes and believe Lydia was there.

.

...

"Allison." Lydia breathed, watching as the brunette slumped against a wall. Her friend looked as bad as she felt, her phone clutched in her hand. Allison pressed her free hand to her face. Lydia looked around nervously, tugging the girl deeper down the hallway. "Pull it together." Lydia snapped, pinching the other girl harshly.

Allison yelped, pulling her arm away and tucking it across her chest. Reality suddenly dawned on her and Allison pressed her hand against her mouth, giving a choked sob. "Oh Lydia. Its all wrong!" She cracked, shaking her head. "They'll kill him if I tell them where he's at!" She was crying and Lydia pulled a face. The redhead reached out and pinched her again.

"Snap out if it!" She shook her head. 'Go out and party. It'll be fun. Relaxing.' She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "You need to chill out, Allison." She smiled as a group walked past her, letting them think everything was fine. Let them think Allison was just the token drunk girl at the party, crying and loosing her lunch. No big thing. Lydia stepped closer. "I'm going to go out on a limb here. Your crazy monster hunting family is here for Jackson?"

Allison gave a pitiful "Uh-huh."

Lydia looked over her shoulder, watching as Jackson crossed the room. Someone stopped him. Isaac. Seems there was already a hunting party on the prowl. "They want you to get him somewhere so they can catch him." She muttered, a scuffle was going down on the dance. She turned back to Allison. They had to go. Something was wrong.

The girl was wide eyed, shaking her head wildly. "No. No, no, no." She repeated, full sobbing now. She dropped her phone, clutching the wall behind her. "They'll kill him Lydia. They want to kill him." She was whispering, eyes blind and full of tears. Lydia gasped, staggering back. They'd... they were going to... God.

She shook her head, now was not the time. "Have you told him he's here? Where he's at?" She asked, her voice sharp. She couldn't see anything on the floor. Allison shook her head. Thank God. Lydia looked around her, at the smoke and the bodies. The lights and dancing. She rolled her eyes. They had to get out of here. They couldn't stay. Her stomach rolled. Reaching into the front of her dress she pulled out a tiny baggie. "Emergency nerve pills." She smiled, grabbing Allison's palm and dropping a pill in her open hand. "Take this and meet me by my car." Lydia said slowly, the brunette was in no shape to drive, and the pill wouldn't help any. Lydia shoved her to the back exit with her car keys, keeping her eyes peeled for anything. "You've got about forty minutes before that kicks in." Allison looked down at her palm worried, but knocked it back anyway. Lydia wouldn't poison her.

She hoped.

Her feet brought her blindly to the exit, then Lydia's car. She pressed the unlock button and climbed in the back. She was hiding and she wasn't ashamed. She curled up and prayed for this all to end.

The red head watched the other teen leave. "Good girl." She muttered at her back, turning and walking down the hall. She had to find a bathroom. Or somewhere else to be sick at. Her head spun and her stomach rolled, but there wasn't anything for her to throw up. She hadn't eaten.

Looking into the mirror of the bathroom she sighed. "You can do this." She told her reflection. "You can go out there and smile as you walk out the door. You can climb in that car and get over all this. You have to accept this. You accept it and move on." She hardened her eyes, shaking her head. "You're Lydia Martin. Lydia Martin does not cry over monsters. She does not stay up all night screaming over dead men. She does not have circles under her eyes." She slammed her hands down hard, focusing on the sting of it.

She headed out, her back straighter from a mental pep talk. Something crashed by her.

A monster. A creature. This wasn't what Scott turned to. This wasn't a wolf. "Oh God." It watched her, staring her down as her previously gained confidence sucked out of her. She felt her knees give out as it leaned forward, hissing and barring its teeth. This thing...this was...

Someone grabbed her arms before she collapsed, clawed fingers and a strong grip as they lifted her completely off her feet. Isaac, Isaac Lahey with his furred face and his sharp teeth. He looked down at her with those strange yellow eyes and yelled, "Lydia! Get out of here! He'll kill you." He sounded worried, scared. He put her back down and shoved her down a hall as she processed what he was saying. It would kill her. Not him. Jackson.

He was protecting her, pushing her from it.

She saw the creature, the creature that was Jackson, turn. It stared at her and she couldn't move. It just watched. Isaac shouted for her to go again, but she didn't. She couldn't. This was the monster. This was what would get her. Not...Isaac stepped in front if her again, and roared. It was so loud it hurt her ears and she clapped her hands over them. The kanima reared back an finally, she ran. Trying desperately not to look over her shoulder.

She found Erica outside, Stiles before her and watching someone go. She panted, her head spinning, what was happening? Oh God. "Isaac. Jackson. The kanima, Isaac is fighting it." She stuttered out, waving her hand behind her. It was going to kill him. The kanima...it could kill him. And then she fainted, her eyes rolling up and her legs giving out. Erica barely catching her before she tumbled down the concrete stairs.

.

...

She was in the house again, staring up at the burned out ceiling. She could hear the mournful howls and the terrified screams. Only now, there were roars. Loud and earth shaking. She was just there though, staring at the ceiling as something circled her. She didn't look up to see what it was. Peter Hale. Werewolf. Mountain Lion. It didn't matter anymore.

She was tired even in her dreams now.

"You're not real." She muttered, raising a hand to ghost trace the jagged burn marks in the ceiling. "You're not even alive." She snorted, chuckling under her breath. She was exasperated. Laughing.

Peter laughed with her but this time there was an uncertain edge to it. He sounded shakeup. "You keep me alive Lydia." He said, just like he did every night. The same lines that she already knew. "I'm alive in your head." Lydia ignored him, still staring up. Still laughing.

"No. You're dead. I just can't seem to convince you, or myself." She layed her hand down on the dirty hard wood floor only to find it turned into the slick tiles of the bathroom. Him clawing at the door, growling. She counted the ceiling tiles, reminding herself that the blood that seeped from them and dropped around her, it wasn't real. None of this was real.

If she would just get up and open that door...

But she couldn't because a part of her, it still thought this was real.

.

...

Stiles frowned, looking back at the two girls in the backseat. Erica had taken his Jeep, Boyd having taken the Camaro earlier. Isaac had escaped the Kanima just as Lydia had burst on the scene, running after Derek as he went after Scott. Stiles had watched helplessly as Erica told him to stay behind. That something very bad had happened. She always said she was a little bit psychic.

But they'd need a car to bring Scott to the vet and he offered his, all he could do really. When he'd gone to Lydia's he found Allison loopy and out of it in her back seat. She'd been crying. He careful shifted them in the back, carefully taking the keys from Allison's curled fingers. Pulling over, he let his head fall to the steering wheel.

He was so tired. Of all this. Of what it had brought. How it never seemed to in. God, his dad had lost his job because of this. Suddenly he wished he would have hit Jackson harder. He leaned back, wondering after Scott. Derek had looked scared. And if he was scared, they were terrified. He felt his stomach sour, his throat closing up at the thought. That his friend could be dead.

"Better watch out. If Lydia catches you she'll put a downer under your tongue." Allison warned, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. She wiped at the black tear tracks of mascara, frowning. Lydia's head was in her lap, her red curls over her face. she would have brushed them away, but her hand felt heavy. She wondered what put them all in this position. She knew what had her doped up in the backseat, her family. This mess. Werewolves. She thought of Scott, shaking her head. She wouldn't give it up. "She's got a pharmacy stuck in her cleavage." Allison kept trying to move her heavy hand, but couldn't. After a few seconds, she couldn't even care anymore. She sighed heavily, feeling the tension leaving her spine. Her mind blanking.

Stiles watched the

girl. She was out of it. Her head lulled to the side, her eyes barely open. She was gone. He didn't blame her for the want to be. Stiles cleared his throat, coughing. "Yeah?" He asked, wiping at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He sniffed, wondering if he should tell her. That Scott was in trouble. That he didnt even know what the fuck was going on anymore. That the world was crashing and he didn't know which way was up. He shook his head, ignorance was bliss and he'd let her have it. "Why were you here?" He asked, licking his lips. "The party? Lydia's backseat?"

Allison barely shrugged, letting her eyes slide shut. She was tired. So tired. "Family outing." She muttered, shaking her head. Why couldn't her family be normal? Go to chili's or something, not monster hunting. Hell, she'd take normal hunting. "I was bait...for Jackson. They're trying to kill him, Stiles." She felt her eyes water, and then nothing. She felt...Nothing. Mood stabilizers would do that to a girl. Her face fell flat and her body went slack. She let her eyes open, staring up at the roof of Lydia's car. She found invisible little patterns, idly tracing them.

Stiles frowned, tapping his fingers on the wheel. He felt his spine go ridged, staring at Allison in the rearview mirror. His heart spead up to the point where he'd thought it would burst. "Your...Your family was here?" He asked quietly, a bitter taste in his mouth."Was Gerard with them?" He knew he was. He knew. Oh God. He was going to have a panic attack. He had to calm down. He needed...to breathe.

Allison frowned, a reaction to the words not really a feeling. She wasn't feeling much really. Just tired. "Yeah. Why?" She slurred, God she was so tired. Why was she so tired? She looked down at Lydia, sleeping the ride away. All peaceful. She felt a little spark of envy.

Stiles was talking again and she focused. This was important. Right? Right. She closed her eyes, not even hearing him as he spoke. He talked a lot. She didn't really care though. He was good friend. "Derek...Derek said Scott was in trouble." He muttered, the words sounding like a severe understatement to his own ears. "Gerard...he cornered Scott at the hospital a week ago. He stabbed Scott and threatened to...he threatened to kill Melissa McCall." He felt sick, his head leaning back against the drivers seat.

Allison heard his voice stop, nodding blindly. She wasn't paying attention. To anything. Not even the little squiggles she made. Or her family. The obligations they made up. Nothing. Empty. Peace. "Go to Lydia's Dad's house. He's gone this weekend. I don't want to go home." She muttered the alarm code, falling over with her head on the window. Fast asleep.

Stiles sighed, pulling back to the road. He didn't really want to go home either. He drove slowly.

.

...

Lydia woke up with a scream in her throat and a hand over her mouth. Her own hand. Someone was in her bed, a heavy arm across her stomach. Trapping her. Keeping her still. She couldn't move.

There was a light on. The bathroom door cracked, open. Its where the light came from. Barely illuminating the room. Her room. At her father's. The warm body in her bed, softly snoring, was Allison. Her arm across her stomach. Lydia breathed a heavy sigh, wondering just how they got there. Her heels were off, Allison's freezing feet against her leg told her the same. Her coat was still on though. She wondered how they'd gotten there.

Allison would have been in no shape to drive. She'd have been gone, numb. Tired. She tried to think of anyone else who'd know where her Father lived. Where to go. The alarm code and the knowledge that he wouldn't be home. But then again, Allison could have shared that. She lifted the arm off her stomach, wiggling out of the covers that were tucked up to her throat. Her mother? No. She would have taken the coat off. And she would have brought her home, woken her up.

Going to the dresser Lydia frowned at the thought. How would her mother had even found her? Or carried her up the stairs? She shrugged out of her coat and dress, pulling on an old teeshirt and yoga shorties. Her Dad was in Los Angeles until Wednesday. It couldn't have been him.

Stiles.

She remembered it all as she stumbled down the stairs, her head spinning. Isaac and Jackson, Erica and Stiles. Allison panicking. She shook her head, clenching the banister. The grandfather clock in the living room rang the hour. Three am. She had to laugh, sitting down on the stairs and laughing hysterically. Like a crazy person. She leaned back on the stairs, pressing her hands to her eyes as she full out laughed. So hard her ribs hurt.

"L-Lydia?" She peeked between her fingers, spying him at the bottom of the stairs. He was looking at her with worry in his eyes. She just kept laughing, so hard it echoed in the empty house. "Lydia?" So worried. When wasn't he looking at her like that though? Worried and scared. She laughed harder, laying back on the stairs. Oh God. Monsters. A monster had saved her from a monster.

She didn't even know which way was up anymore. She just kept laughing. Harder. She could feel the tears running. "Monsters." She choked out, throwing her hands up. "Teenage monsters are just running around, fighting each other and running away from little girls with crossbows!" She cackled, slumping down the stairs.

Stiles frowned, sinking down to sit on the stairs beside her. She was obviously loosing it. He didn't blame her. It did sound pretty insane. He sank back on the stairs, his head at her knees. It...was kind of funny. He chuckled, his shoulders shaking. God. Monsters. He shook his head. This was crazy. He looked up at her, watching as she wiped tears from her eyes. A sudden seriousness took over her, her face going flat.

Lydia slid down the step, falling even with him. "Thanks for bringing me home." She told him, shoulder to shoulder. Stiles looked down at the top of her head, wondering after the sudden seriousness."It seems you're there when I need you." She looked up at him, her eyes tracing his face. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop. To show something bad.

His eyes switched over to that look. The one he had that she'd never seen on anyone else when they looked at her. Soft. Jackson had never looked at her like that. She pulled a face, determined to stop the comparison. The were two opposites. Stiles was...Stiles and Jackson was a cold blooded reptile. And the Kanima. "I'll always be there when you need me." He told her, keeping eye contact. Lydia frowned at the honesty. He had been too. Always. Even when they were younger.

Leaning over she tucked her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and sighing heavily. "Why though?" She asked quietly, her voice barely a whisper. She didn't understand. He didn't get anything from her. She wasn't even nice to him most the time. Sometimes she just walked right past him. Five weeks ago she didn't even know what the hell he was. Who he was. Now?

Well now she wasn't quite sure what he was.

Stiles licked his lips nervously, watching the top of her head. What was he supposed to say? "Because..." he trailed off. What did she want him to say? That he was pretty sure he loved her? That he was always there because he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be? That he was there because she needed him? Because he hated that she cried alone in her car? He hated the way Jackson had treated her. How she treated herself. That he was there because she was in gym shorts and a tee shirt with messy hair and ruined make up, and she'd never been more beautiful. Was he supposed to tell her that he was there because he was waiting desperately for her to notice him?

He opened his mouth to tell her, anything. But he was interrupted by the sound of a hammer on the door. "Stiles! Hurry up and open the damn door." Lydia flinched, jumping forward and grabbing Stiles shoulders. He flinched at the strength. At the fear in her spine. God, she was so terrified. He wondered if she jumped at every noise.

"Isaac." He breathed, tugging at her hands. Lydia breathed in relief, pressing her forehead to his cheek. He rubbed a hand down her back, trying not to freeze at the contact. She needed comfort, not shakey hands. "Its just Isaac." He clarified, speaking into her hair. "He's got my Jeep." She smelled like vanilla. Warm. Her fingers wrapping themselves in his teeshirt.

Lydia gave out a slow breath, shakey. She turned to look at him, meeting his eyes. They were such pretty eyes. So honest. "You should get the door then." Part of her didn't want him to leave. Probably the part of her that was holding on with a tight grip, her fingers in his shirt. She wanted to ask him to stay.

Stiles frowned, there was hardly a hairs breadth between them. Her forehead pressed against his. "I should." He muttered quietly. All he'd have to do is lean forward. Just a little. Not far at all.

Lydia sucked her bottom lip in, biting in to it. She let go with a soft sound

She slid her eyes shut, waiting. "Then why aren't you?" She asked quietly, turning her brow against his. She didn't want him to go. She wanted him to stay. To...

Stiles leaned forward, just a tiny bit. "Because I want to do this more." Lydia helped him close the space, leaning up and pressing her lips to his. Under her hand she could hear his heartbeat spead up, matching Isaac's angry knocking. The kiss was chaste, soft. Isaac kept knocking. Hard.

She smiled, turning her face away only to turn it back to his. "You should really get that." She whispered against his mouth. He tilted, bumping his nose against hers. She wrinkled hers, breathing a laugh. His eyes were still closed. Savoring. She ran her hand up his shoulder, giving him a shove and a smile.

.

...

"She kissed you." Isaac accused from the passenger seat, a glare on his face.

Stile grinned ear to ear, clapping one hand on the wheel. "She sure did buddy." He sighed, shaking his head. "She sure did."

.

...

An: So I watched the original Teen Wolf movie while I wrote this. I haven't watched it since I was little. Its so funny. And their jeans? That was a bad era. "That's nice. You look good in that." There a lot hotter now, BTW. Well, I've got a watermelon to spike! Ah, southern summe


	5. Its My Birthday, Cry If U Want 2

Disclaimer: I don't own teen wolf.

An: Hey there friendship! Its been a few minutes, huh? Sorry. I got...stuck on this weird Isaac Lydia story that's kinda odd and dark. I might post it, maybe. Idk. Bur here's the new chapter, extra long in apology for the wait, enjoy.

.

...

He didn't really know what made her do it, but he definitely wasn't going to make her stop.

Ever since the night on the stairs and that kiss he couldn't get out of his head, Lydia was his shadow. Or he was hers, what with her take charge attitude. She'd show up randomly. Walk with him in the halls. Share lunch. Even Allison noticed the change, not that she was complaining. Her mother was sick, therefore not at school. Meaning she could share a lunch with them, mooning over Scott and playing footsie under the table.

Stiles looked up at his best friend, a flat look on his face. "I appreciate the thought, but I feel like you're just moving too fast for me Scott." He said, raising a brow as his best friend ran his Nike up his calf. The foot dropped and Scott turned red, facing down into his lunch. He laughed.

Lydia turned to them for the briefest of a second, going back to talking to Allison about something girl related. Just because she was there, didn't mean she was...there. She'd sit in his car making phone calls, do her homework on the bleachers at his Lacrosse practice. He'd left the shower three times to find her painting her nails in his bed. Three times. It was only Wednesday. And she acted as if she'd been doing it for years. Like it was a normal part of her routine, no one else commented on it either. Some strange acceptance. Though Scott kept giving him weird looks. Confused.

She hadn't kissed him again though. But there was always some form of contact. Her shoulder against his on the couch. Elbow on his arm as he drove. The toe of her shoe touching his under the table. Something. No matter what. Just there.

He frowned, wondering why she was there. Was it comfort? He assumed it was. He was a security blanket. Not a very sexy thing to be. Safety. She turned to him, with a smile on her lips and winked. But he could accept the position, as long as she stayed happy.

.

...

For the hundreth time, Lydia wondered what the hell she was doing. Technically she was eating lunch and planning a party, her birthday party, with Allison. But the rest of her? Daydreaming. About a chaste kiss. With the toe of her shoe touching his! Like a child who didn't want to wander too far. Always on his tail.

She'd spent enough time in the Stilinski house hold to warrant a name on the mail box. If the census came asking, it was a three person household. It was pitiful. She didn't even stay the night. She'd eat dinner and watch him do the dishes. Last night, she'd even helped put them in the wash! (The Sheriff had declared her fit to work, stating that he was tired of doing them.) She didn't even do her own dishes. But she'd been right happy to help. Drying.

But she'd noticed something else.

The Sheriff...wasn't the Sheriff anymore. He stayed home. He'd been fired. Stiles told her it was because of the police-van-Jackson incident. He'd stared ahead with his hands on his knees. Quiet and guilty. He didn't need to say how much he blamed himself, she could feel it. He wore the guilt like a second skin. A motivator to do things that he might have not wanted to. She'd grabbed his hand. A simple gesture that had made her feel awkward but him better. It was...worth it to see him slightly smile. She felt like an idiot. A weird flutter in her stomach at his smile.

Maybe she was getting ill. Or going insane.

She didn't like to leave his side, she kept him like a shield. Against the looks she got in the hall. Against the whispers she heard from the other students. Against the thoughts of Peter.

But he was still there when she left Stiles. School meant curfew, curfew meant 10 o'clock goodbyes. And goodbye meant Lydia took a sleeping pill in the driveway and raced home before the coating dissolved and it kicked it. One layer to help you get to sleep, the other to help you stay asleep. Or wreck into a ditch. Whichever. But she knew that the less time she spent alone, the less of him she heard.

But it was Friday. The last day of before two weeks of spring break. Her birthday was Wednesday. The full moon. And she had a plan.

It wasn't a plan that needed to be shared though. She let Allison believe that she had a bash to end all bashes on the agenda. It was truly something else, she smiled a secretive curve of her lips. Lydia's parties were always the best parties.

She caught Stiles looking at her, that strange look in his eyes. She smiled, winking. She knew he had plans with Scott tonight, a meeting with Derek Hale about the Kanima.

But also about something else. Something equally as dangerous.

She turned to Allison with a gaurded look. Monday had been the Rave, the part disaster part confusion part kissing strange boys and slipping her friend a Mickey rave. The rave where, as Stiles told her, Victoria Argent had attacked Scott. She'd hit him with her car and used a vaporizer of wolfsbane to drug him. It had almost killed him. But Derek Hale had sensed it, as the Alpha. He'd rushed and in the attack...bit Victoria.

Lydia doubted the woman would be immune as she had.

She gave Allison a smile, mentally counting how many sedatives she had in her medicine cabinet. She knew what the Argent matriarch would do. She looked back to Stiles, a frown on her face.

The boy caught it, hitting her foot with his own. "What's up?" He asked, his brow furrowing. He tried to figure out what would have her frowning, but knew there were quite a few answers. Lydia shook her head, her eyes flicking to Allison. He knew what had her frowning. He felt the same. Allison was going to lose her Mother. Soon. He didn't know Victoria, and he didn't particularly care for her or her plans, but he cared about Allison. She was his friend. She was the girl Scott loved.

She was going to be another kid without a Mom. He knew how hard that was.

Allison cleared her throat, shaking her head at the pair as they had some silent conversation. They thought she and Scott were bad. She'd seen them together. They...fit. Stiles offbeat attitude meshing well with Lydia's...brashness. Opposites did attract it seemed. "Are you still coming by after school?" She asked, sitting her fork down and picking up her drink. Lydia turned to her wide eyed.

The redhead kept her face blank. Could she go to Allison's with what she now knew? Could she look Victoria Argent in the face, knowing? She smirked, of course she could. She was Lydia Martin. It was her reaction to Allison that made her queasy. She still slapped a smile on her perfectly painted mouth and nodded. "Yeah. But we've got to run to the bakery and the caterers. Oh and Macy's too." She ticked off the places on her fingers, wondering how long that would take.

If they took long enough Stiles would be back from Derek's and she could see him. God, what was wrong with her? She needed to stop.

Said boy picked up, grinning and giving her a reason to run. "Don't forget the Butchers and the Candlestick maker's!" He laughed, looking nervous when no one laughed with him. Lydia gave him her big eyed blank faced look and Scott slowly shook his head. "Get it? The butcher, the baker, and the cand..." The boy trailed off, leaning back in his seat. No one had laughed yet. Allison just stared, looking embarassed for him. "No? Okay then." He crossed his arms.

"Yeah." Allison dragged out slowly, pulling her eyes away from the train wreck. Stiles shoved a fry in his mouth, better than the foot that was already there. "So, a caterer huh?"

.

...

Lydia had her suspicions. She'd always had her suspicions. Stiles believed that it was Mr. Harris. She had her doubts.

There was a list of names. A swim team from six years ago. A fear of water. And no motive. Nothing to connect it together. It was a mess. A big disaster of confetti clues and paw prints. So she sat in her handy dandy thinking chair and thought, thought, thought the perfect plan. A smirk crossed her lips as she walked down the hall. Alone.

She caught Jackson by his sleeve in the hall after lacrosse practice, she'd already spotted Scott and Stiles darting off. Quick to get to their pow-wow with Derek. A smile graced her lips. It was Just after practice, she'd told Allison that she'd forgotten something in her locker. The boy before her would have absolutely no contact with Scott, Stiles, or Allison before the party. She gave him her best pouty look, from under her lashes. The one he loved. The one that got her way everytime.

"Are you coming to my party?" She asked quietly, letting a hint of nervousness enter her voice. Her heart was speeding up and he knew he'd hear it. It was quick because of the game though, not fear. She wasn't afraid. Not of him. She'd already won. She always won. "I'd really like for you to be

there." She felt him tug against her grasp and let go, stepping back with a hurt look on her face.

He spun some 'You don't want me there' mess, but she wasn't listening. He had a faint bruise on his nose and chin. Stiles bruising had been worse. His black eye. That he'd gotten from this boy because he was defending her. Her stomach turned sour and she tried to keep her expression in good spirits. Jackson had finished his little speech.

"I'll see you there." She told him, a frown slipping out. She turned away, a smirk on her face. Lydia Martin always got her way. A call came in from the florist when she reached her car.

Always.

.

...

Derek frowned at the duo, not quite understanding their dismissal of his plan. "You said Lydia knew everything now." He spoke slowly, as if to children. They were children though. Sometime stupider. "Why can't we use her to lure Jackson out." It was a good plan. Solid. But the boys shook their heads, Stiles shooting it down hard.

"Lydia isn't...she can't...I think..." Stiles was at a lose for words. On one hand, he didn't want to put Lydia in danger. On the other hand, he wasn't sure she was up for a cloak and dagger tasks like trapping. Especially with the threat of Jackson changing. He could hurt her. Badly. Stiles didn't want that. He didn't want to see her lying lifeless and bloodied ever again. "Lydia can't do that. She can't be involved with the Kanima." He spoke clearly, his head held high. He'd stick to this. He didn't want her involved. Derek gave him a questioning look, not understanding.

"But why?" The Alpha asked, clearly confused. "Lydia can help, can't she?"

"Nope." A voice laughed, "Cause Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep and doesn't know where to find them." Isaac sing-songed from his spot a few yards away on top of a box, a smirk on his face. He met Stiles's glare from across the room, an amused little tilt to his mouth. Scott's hand wrapped tight on his best friend's elbow. It kept him from leaping past Derek to attack the boy.

He had to stop picking fights with monsters. His black eye hadn't even healed yet.

Derek leaned forward, frowning as Stiles leaned back quickly. A strange look on his face. He probably thought he was going to hit him. He'd changed his scent. A different shampoo? "Erica said the two of you were together." His brow furrowed. The scent of Lydia did cling to the boy. On his skin, his clothes. Everywhere. But it wasn't as Eric had thought. She should have known better. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Stiles squirmed under the look. "You do smell like her, but you don't smell like her arousal." He shook his head. Stiles wasn't sleeping with Lydia. At least not sexually.

The boy gave him a flat look. "Gee. Thanks Derek." He rolled his eyes, crossing his own arms. "Of course I'm not sleeping with her." She was...

"Stuck in the friend zone with cuckoo Harley, Batman?" Erica smiled, her arms stretched out above her head and holding onto the top of a train car. It pushed her breast together, just like she wanted it to. "I promise I won't do the same." She winked, an action he preferred when done with Lydia's green eyes than her smouldering grey ones. Erica may have been something, but it wasn't something he wanted.

Derek glared over at her, tilting his head. "Don't you have someone else to bother?" It was a clear dismissal and five days away from the full moon, Erica took it. But not without a few mumbled words only the Weres caught.

"Great girl, that one." Stiles snarked, not pulling away fast enough to avoid the slap Derek landed to the back of his head.

Scott interrupted the squabble, elbowing his friend. "Look, that's not important." He growled, shaking his head. "What's important is the catching the Kanima..." he paused, looking down at his knees. He rubbed his chest at the pang of memory, of how close he'd come. "And Allison's Mom."

Derek went somber the whole room falling into a sudden shadow. The air still. Stiles felt his stomach roll, looking off to the side. The silence was suffocating. Isaac was the one to break it. "She'll be killed." He answered quietly, "Or she'll kill herself."

Everyone looked over to him, varying expressions. Shock. Illness. Blank. The boy just shrugged, "Everyones been thinking it." He admitted, shaking his head. His eyes met Scott's, blank. The true neutral of someone who honestly did not care. It didn't involve him. It wouldn't involve any of them after the full moon.

Victoria Argent was a hunter. She'd been bit by a werewolf. She was going to die.

.

...

"I thought it would be easier."

Stiles jumped at the voice coming out of the dark, holding his backpack up as a shield. His room was pitch black, the voice coming from the window sill. It was blank, eerily quiet. Downcast.

He'd had enough downcast with Derek and Isaac.

He breathed a sigh at the familiar form, dropping his bag on the floor softly. His Dad had been in the kitchen, going over papers and year books. He'd obviously missed however the intruder had snuck in. "You scared me." He told Lydia, falling back to his bed. He was tired. He wanted to pull the covers over his head and sleep forever.

Lydia didn't move fron the window, perched precariously on the edge. She had her shoulder against the glass, staring out to the woods. The whole town was covered in those goddamned woods, she sighed against the glass. It blocked her view, but only for a second. "I thought I could go to Allison's house. Face Mrs Argent and act normal. But I couldn't." She remembered the woman's fluttering, clinging to Allison as the girl basically shrugged her off. Mr. Argent looking at his wife, this profound sadness on his face when he thought no one was looking. And Gerard. A silent figure in the room. Watching her. Something about him..."I couldn't stay there." She whispered, she'd left without even telling the other girl. Just...left.

Stiles looked up at the ceiling, kicking his shoes off."Why didn't you go home?" He asked, already knowing the answer. Lydia didn't want to be alone. She couldn't stand it. He didn't blame her. Not over the want for company or the inability to look Victoria Argent in the eye knowing she would be dead in a weeks time. But he didn't know why she kept coming to him.

Lydia didn't either. It was strange. She had no reason to want to be around this strange boy. She had no answer for him. Except. "I wanted to be here." She replied quietly, watching her breath fog the window. The world was quiet for a long moment, like the world hung still. Lydia leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the window.

"Why?"

It was one word. On single word said in such a blank voice. Lydia frowned at the sound. Stiles waited, holding his breath. Her answer...

"I like it here." Lydia's brow furrowed, biting her lip. Why? It was a good question she had to admit. Simple and to the point. Why? Why was she there? Why did she run to him? Why did she want to be here? "I feel...I don't know what I feel. I feel confused." She was being honest. When was she ever truly honest? With him. She was honest with him. Not because it got her anything, but just because she was so tired of pretending. Her shoulders sagged, she was so tired. "Will you let me stay?" She asked, knowing he would.

"Always." Stiles spoke to the ceiling, a frown seeming permanently etched into his face. He was tired. So tired. The bed shifted and Lydia's face entered his line of view. Her make up was smeared, not much just around her eyes. Barely. He only noticed because she was so close, her hair a curtain around his face. It blocked the world out. He reached out, pulling on a curl. Her eyes softened, an almost there smile.

"Will you stay too?" She asked, watching as the curl slipped from his fingers. His face had already blank, but shock was registering on his face. His eyes got wide.

Stiles sat up quick, narrowly avoiding her head, "W-what?" He frowned, shaking his head. Lydia was sitting on his bed, looking at him like he was stupid. He waved his hands. "I don't think that-"

"Shut up, Stiles." Lydia rolled her big eyes, her hand hard on his chest as she pushed him back onto the bed. The springs bounced under him and he looked up at her in shock. She laid her head on his chest, frowning at his ridgid posture as thunder sounded outside the window. She wrapped her leg around his, attempting to get comfortable in the twin sized bed. "Its not like I asked you to put your hand up my skirt."

.

...

Lydia was gone by the time he woke up, groggy and uncomfortable. He'd slept in his jeans. No good ever came from sleeping in jeans. A shower later he walked down to the kitchen, greeting his Father.

Sheriff Stilinski looked over the rim of his glasses, coffee mug in hand. "I watched Lydia sneak out this morning." His son didnt even still, pulling breakfast foods out. His Father would eat unhealthy through out the day if he didn't start out well. Healthy veggie sausage and an egg whit

es Omelet. Low fat cheese. His dad cringed at the selection. But it was better than carrot sticks and celery, without ranch.

Stiles turned the stove on, shrugging his shoulders in a circle. There was Crick in one, from where Lydia's head had laid. He frowned at the thought, stilling in his motions. "Did you let her in last night?" He asked, watching his father in the blury reflection of the unused stainless tea pot on the back burner.

The older man raised his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah." He admitted, remembering the girl as she stood on the doorstep. She'd tried to be so strong about it. Her chin high. "She's got those big eyes like on the UNICEF commercials. She'd been crying." She'd been carrying her coat, her strapless dress showing the new pink scars on her shoulder. They were gruesome. He remembered when he'd first saw them. When his son had rushed intova hospital, terrified. He looked over the rim of his glasses."Seems like she does that a lot."

Stiles frowned down at the stove, watching the lowfat oil heat. A sharp pang hit his chest. "Yeah. Yeah she does." He muttered.

.

...

She could do this she smirked, mentally going over her guest list. More importantly a key four people on it. This night, this party, it was her plan. One that she knew would work because she devised it. A Lydia Martin plan never failed. She leaned against the doorway as the caterers sat up. One of them looked back at the twisted smile on their employer's face and shivered. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

And this birthday girl looked royally screwed over. She caught him looking and laughed. "Make sure to set up a punch bowl outside." She ordered, crossing her arms. "I want to make sure everyone has a glass."

.

...

She watched the party goers party, jumping in the pool and out. Fully clothed. Drunken. High on the Hallucinogens in the purple flowers floating pretty in the punch. She'd scolded Scott earlier, over what she couldn't quite remember. Maybe she shouldn't be drinking the punch with them.

She set the glass down behind her, leaning against the side of the house. She watched Jackson out the corner of her eyes. He was gone. Out of it, spinning around in a circle. Everyone was. Stage one complete. Dope up all the children in Beacon Hills. (And a few drag queens that Stiles had invited. She had no comment on that one.) Now all she had to do was wait. She knew the threat that had been made.

Stay out of my way or I'll kill you.

They hadn't. She knew the Kanima's master would use this moment. Use the drunken state as a shield.

Someone might die tonight if her plan didn't work.

She looked up to the full moon as it hung heavy in the sky. Someone was going to die tonight. Or maybe already had. She'd watched Allison race out of the house ten minutes ago, running as fast as her long legs would take her. Lydia slunk further into the shadows, a sick feeling in her stomach.

Part of her, and she didn't really know when she'd developed that part, wanted to run. To run away from the party. The people. To find Allison. She was...worried. It wasn't a feeling she liked.

Stiles slid up beside her, his eyes dropped from the punch. A slow smile on his face. Lydia turned her head to look at him, that strange buzzing in her stomach again. She couldn't explain it. She didn't think long on it. "Hey." He slurred, leaning heavily against the wall. His body lined hers, his arm pressed against her arm. He radiated heat, but still a chill went down her spin.

Lydia let her chin rest on his shoulder, his scent filling her nose. He smelled so good. Some combination scents that she couldn't name. He shoulder was wet. Soaked actually. "Hey." She breathed back, quiet. He could hear her over the music, she was close enough that he could feel her breath hot on his ear. It was his turn to shiver, leaning back further on the wall. "I don't remember you telling me happy birthday." She purred, not even noticing that she was doing it.

Stiles turned to look at her, not even noticing how close their faces were. Not close enough. Lydia thought of how close he had been four nights ago,how nervous he'd been. How well she'd slept. No nightmares. "Yeah?" He muttered, distinctly remembering that he did. When she'd opened the door and he'd fought that present through the door. "Huh. I'll have to make up for that." The drink gave him a confidence that he didn't normally have and he turned his body suddenly, caging her in. Lydia didn't feel suffocate. She didn't feel closed in. She felt...she felt protected. She felt things that she was too gone to think about. Things part of her knew better to dwell on. She felt the butterflies come back with a vengeance as she peered up at him with wide eyes. His own eyes were hooded, gazing down at her a look that made her breath catch in her throat. With his nose millimeters from hers all she'd have to do was stand a little taller and she could...

A voice stopped her upward travel and thoughts as she listened carefully. "Stop! STOP! I CAN'T SWIM!" Lydia smirked at the shout and splash, looking over Stiles shoulders at its owner. Curiouser and Curiouser.

She looked back at Stiles, who obviously hadn't heard a thing. He was focused on her. Lydia smiled. "We'll finish this later." She promised with a wink, slipping under his arm. She walked into the darkness at the side of the house. Stiles frowned, shaking his head.

So close, but so far.

He went to find Scott, watching as a soaked Matt stalked out of the pool. Sirens followed.

"Police! Scatter!"

Someone grabbed his arm and he spun. Scott faced him, a shocked look in his eyes as he pulled him away. They raced down the driveway, narrowly avoiding the Police checks. Stiles grabbed his friend's arm, tugging him back. "We've got to find Lydia." He said over the sirens. Scott wasn't listening though, he was staring off at something.

Someone.

Matt. The boy was seething, water soaking him. The Kanima was low, crouched around his ankles. He hissed. A car passed and they were gone.

A car peeled in front of them, driving backwards. The driver's window rolled down. Lydia's face smirked from the opening, "Get in losers, we're going hunting." She laughed, harsh and sharp. The Police sirens went loud behind them and the boys tumbled into the backseat. The door slammed as the car peeled away.

Stiles shuffled forward, sliding into the front seat. There was a look of shock to his face, buckling up. "You planned this?" Scott asked from the back seat, his voice full of disbelief. Matt...Matt was the Kanima. Lydia had found it all out in one night. Derek had been right.

Lydia shifted to third, "Yup." She answered simply, taking a turn like a roller coaster. Scott slid across the back seat, struggling to buckle up. Stiles shot him a worried look over his shoulder. Lydia had lost it. They didn't even know where she was taking them.

He turned his eyes back to her, watching as she drove like she knew where they were going. Where were they going? "You drugged about a hundred Beacon Hill children...to find the Kanima's master." He told her, like explaining to a child. Slowly. "You could go to jail..." Maybe Derek had been right? Or horribly wrong? Probably wrong.

Lydia turned away from the road, looking at him. "Why?" She shrugged, rolling her eyes. She didn't see the problem. Her plan had worked. Matt was the Kanima's master. Mystery solved. Simple. They'd been after this for weeks. It had only taken her a day. She turned back to the road, "I had no idea that Monkshood caused that level of crazy. I just thought they were pretty. Matched My dress." She pulled a hand off the wheel, fluttering it against the skirt of her dress. Stiles resisted the urge to grab the wheel.

Scott frowned from the backseat. Maybe Derek had been right. "How'd you know the police were coming?" He asked when she stopped at a light. He recognized the route. They were headed to the business section of town. She'd been waiting.

Lydia shrugged her shoulders and he noticed they were bare, he couldn't see the scar from the back though. "I called them." She answered, pulling off. "After Matt got dunked. He's the kanima." She just accepted it. Moved on. Matt was the one they were looking for. End of story. Get rid of Matt...

Scott frowned in the shadows of the backseat. It didn't make sense. "But why?" He asked, shaking his head. "He's killing from the 2006 swim team. It doesn't make sense." It didn't. Truly. It was strange. Confusing.

"Motives are for court cases, honey." She answered sharply. She didn't need one. It was pointless.

Stiles frowned at her speedometer, "You drive fast. Where are we going?" He asked, amazed he hadn't asked already.

"To the hospital." She answered simply, her hands tight on the steering wheel. She was trying not to look at Scott. She was trying to focus on the road. She was trying...to focus.

Stiles stuttered from the passenger seat, "W-why?"

He asked nervously, watching her carefully.

Lydia took the last turn to the hospital, the visitors parking lot. She turned the key, leaning back heavily in the seat. "Victoria Argent stabbed herself." She said, her words heavy and clear. The last words she said to the mirror, to Scott. "She's dead."

.

...

An: bum bum buuuuum. Okay. So you guys, I am so sorry it took so long! But hey! The next chapter is half written (cause I kept breaking this one to write it...) I know I took liberties With the party, but still. And Peter Hale IS dead in this. Mainly cause I can't really find a way to shove him in here. See ya.


	6. Hospital Chairs

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

An: I wrote this in one setting while watching Stephen King movies. He makes me want to write...Teen Wolf Fanfiction. I'm sure he'd be touched. So I got some pms about the Isaac/Lydia story. So if you want it up, tell me! Its not anything like this one though... its...idk. Its different than anything I've ever really written. Deff an M rating. Writing Allison in this chapter was hard. Really hard. Its why its all so short. I had to...get it out, you know? Enjoy.

.

...

She wanted answers. She wanted whys and hows.

Why did this happen?

How did this happen?

Why her? Why her family? Why her Mother? Her mom... How did this even happen? How did her Mother even get bit? It didn't make sense. It didn't add up. Her Mother...she didn't go hunting. She was home the night of the Rave. Derek...he was at the Rave.

Her mind was spinning. She couldn't think. Not anymore. No more. She didn't want to. She couldn't. Her head hurt. She dug her nails deep into the vinyl of the waiting couch underneath her, listening for the satisfying 'pop' of the material giving way. Breaking. The sinking then filling as air rushed into the holes she created. The ruins she caused.

She wanted to break things.

She wanted to ruin things.

She wanted...she wanted to hurt things.

Hurt things like she hurt. God, she hurt. Her chest felt empty. But full. Full of pain. Of sadness. Of the emptying echo of her heartbeat. An emptiness that pulsed in her in a way she knew would never truly go away. Never. It would follow her ever where. It would never go away.

Her eyes went dull, sinking low into the cushion as an idea filled her. A need. She wanted to get even. To end this all. All the pain she felt. The ache in her chest. The choking of the sobs in her throat. And the burn of tears in her eyes. This was stronger then all that. This need. She wanted revenge. She needed it.

It wouldn't fix anything, she knew. It wouldn't bring her mother back. It wouldn't make Scott human. It wouldn't stop the monsters. But...it would make her feel better.

But it would make her a hunter. An Argent.

Her Mother had died for them.

.

...

Lydia grabbed Scott's arm, pulling him back sharply. Before the other girl saw them. Stiles stumbled at the sudden stop of the quick pace they'd been keeping. The near run. He followed them into the hallway, looking confused at the pause. Allison was right there... sitting on some couch, alone. She needed them. Her mother was dead. She needed her friends. Someone, anyone.

Lydia was wide eyed, pushing them back as she leaned over the edge. Allison's face, her expression...she shook her head, turning on them. She pushed Scott back, further down the hall. "Go." She whispered urgently, she kept peering behind them. Over her shoulder. She pushed them again, frowning when he didn't budge. "Go!"

Scott shook his head, trying to side step her. Lydia pushed him back, hard, as he tried to head down the hall. His eyes flashed yellow. A growl on his lips. She paid it no mind. "No! Allison she needs-"

"The same thing the rest of the Argents are going to need." Stiles cut him off pulling his best friend back by his elbow, he pulled him further into the hall. They ducked into an empty room. Scott met his eyes and he looked away. He knew what the Argent's would want from this. "A bad guy." He shook his head, a frown on his face. This wasn't going to be good. The Argents. Allison didn't know, she wouldn't understand. She'd lost her Mother. There was no pain like it. He absently rubbed his chest, remembering that hollow feel. It never went away. Never.

Lydia stepped closer to him, shoulder to shoulder. Blocking Scott's path. He looked down at the contact, at the top of her strawberry blonde head. "They'll want a monster." She said quietly, watching Scott with a small frown on her face. She didn't expect it to be like this. But then it had hit her. All of it came crashing down. All this mess. This wasn't a normal death. This was something else. Something they could blame others for.

Scott didn't understand. Couldn't understand. He loved Allison. She needed him now. Didn't the know? Didn't Stiles understand? "I can't leave Allison." He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Lydia stepped forward, a cold look on her face. "You go in there and they'll have you on the table next to Victoria, got it?" She spat sharply, poking him in the chest. The boys flinched at the words. The cruel tone of her voice. She was serious. "I'll take Allison." She said, digging in her jacket pocket for something. Her keys. She handed them backwards, to Stiles. She looked over her shoulder. "Take my car. Go tell Derek Hale to get the hell out of Dodge. You two do the same." She tacked to the end, her eyes softening just the barest hint.

Stiles caught it, and her hand. His grip was tight and she turned to face him. He was worried, she could tell. A set to his mouth that shouldn't have been there. A furrow between his brows that she wanted to wipe away. A shock went through her at the thought. A frown almost reaching her mouth. "What about you? How will you get home?" He asked, not yet letting go. Not taking the keys. Her hand was warm in his, small even wrapped around the keys. She looked up at him with far away eyes, like she didn't quite recognize him.

Lydia shook her head, tugging her hand away. He frowned harder, letting her take her hand away. His fell heavy to his side. "I'll have Scott's Mom bring me to his house." She told him, stepping back. Out of reach. She laid her keys on the table in the room, walking to the door. Lydia held onto the know, her grip on it tight. She bit her lip. "We'll talk there. Decide how to handle all of this."

Scott watched the girl go, pocketing her car keys. He couldn't focus, but there she was. Running the show. "Maybe Derek was right." He told his friend, a frown pulling at his face. He wanted to be with Allison. He wanted to go out there with her so bad that it hurt. But they were right. It was dangerous. The Argents, they'd... "Maybe Lydia is better at this than us." He said quietly, lost in thought.

Stiles leaned against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. Something didn't feel right here. Like the moments before the storm, when you could feel the heaviness in the air. The crackle of electricity. The knowledge that the dam would only hold so long. "I'm not so sure."

.

...

Lydia held the paper cup of hospital coffee, stirring it with the little red straw. Two sugars. Two cream. Like Allison liked. Just enough to hide the metallic tinge. Just enough bitter with the sweet.

She sat down on the vinyl couch next to the brunette offering up the coffee. The silent girl took it, taking a sip with a blank face. Her eyes dull and stuck on the pale grey wall in front of her. She was a zombie, lost in her own mind. Her eyes glazed over and dry tear tracks silvered on her face.

Neither spoke for a long time. Ten minutes, twenty minutes. Lydia watched the clock move. The morgue's waiting room was silent. The words 'dead silent' came to mind but she ignored them. She couldn't handle it. The eerie silence of the grave that filled the space like a cold fog. Suffocating. The only sound the light tick of the second hand and the harder tock of the minute.

Tick, tick, tick, tock.

It was almost two in the morning when she finally spoke, her voice raspy.

Allison took a long sip of her coffee, buying time. More time. Never enough time. "You know?" She asked quietly, blinking her eyes heavily. They burned. She didn't look at the girl when she spoke. Staring at a spot on the wall. "You...you knew?" Her voice was rusty, gone.

Lydia frowned looking away. She didn't know when she'd developed a conscience, but guilt filled her stomach like acid. Turning it over and flipping it inside out. Clenching it as if she were about to throw up. "Yes." She admitted quietly, so quiet she wondered if Allison even heard. She wasn't going to repeat it though. She couldn't. Her throat clenched, blocking the words.

Allison blinked, drinking the chilling coffee to wet her raspy throat. It hurt to talk. She'd cried for so long that is hurt to breathe. "Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, another drink. A longer sip. Slower.

Lydia bit her lip, hard. Her shoulders came up in a shrug, she didn't know how to answer. She couldn't answer. But she had to be strong. She had to. "We were protecting you." She whispered, closing her eyes. She didn't want to see. "We didn't know that this was going to happen." She watched Allison drink. A long drink. Good. She checked the clock again.

Allison was quiet for a long moment, her eyes closed and her head against the wall behind her. "You all knew..." her voice was hurt. Choked. It was painful to hear. To hear the bitter betrayal in it. "You all knew." She was wiping the tears from her face now. Lydia wondered if she even knew that she was crying.

Lydia threaded her fingers with the girl's free hand. It

Wouldn't be long now she thought, a frown pulling on her lips. Allison had her eyes closed. "Drink your coffee." Lydia said quietly, feeling the girl's hand go slack in hers. Allison's head was on her shoulder and she felt a pang of guilt. She brushed it away as she moved the hair from her friend's face.

"I'm so tired, Lydia." Allison whispered, pulling her legs underneath her. Her blinks were getting longer, slower. Her eyes heavy.

Lydia felt the girl's breathing even out. The empty coffee cup falling to the floor. "We all are, honey. We all are."

One layer to help you get to sleep, one layer to keep you there.

.

...

Lydia made it to the other end of the hospital easily, dropping the roofied coffee cup away. She'd left Allison asleep on the couch in the morgue wing, a pillow under her head. She'd dropped her own coat over the girl's still form, tucking her legs up. She slid to the nurses desk, leaning in it heavier than she wanted to admit. She was tired too. Melissa McCall looked up at her, confused.

"Lydia." The woman said, her brow furrowed. She checked her watch, it was almost three in the morning. Far past visiting hours. Far past a decent hour to be up and out. "Hey. Can I help you?" Her shift was almost up.

Lydia shrugged her bare shoulders and Melissa caught sight of the pink scars. The girl had smeared them with makeup, but they were still visible. Melissa remembered them easily. The wounds that wouldn't heal. The coma they'd causes. "Your son has my car." Lydia said, folding her arms on the counter top and leaning on them.

Melissa frowned, weren't her boys supposed to be at this girl's house? Her birthday party? "Did he at least ask first?" She asked, rubbing her brow.

Lydia nodded sleepily, her head down. "Mhm. I gave him the keys." She answered, her voice drowsy. "He and Stiles had something important to do. They dropped me here."

"Okay." Melissa didn't ask what the boys had to do. Or why they had to take her car. Or even my Lydia had to go to the hospital at three am. She just put her pen down, leaning back in the chair. "Would you like me to bring you home to wait for your car? My shift is over, I've just go to clock out."

Lydia straightened up, brushing the hair back from her face. "Yes please." She smiled wide, following Mrs. McCall as they took the back route to the employee lot. Mrs. McCall needed a code to access the door. The air outside had a cold bite and Lydia rolled her shoulders against it. The night was still, the full moon lowering from its peak. She looked up at it with a frown on her face.

Mrs. McCall looked at the girl as she slid into the passenger seat, a far away look was on her face. "I heard Allison is here." She said, backing out. "I heard the Argent name, but nothing else." That wasn't true. She'd heard it through the morgue. A DOA on a thirty eight year old woman. Her mother.

Lydia turned, watching as Melissa's face appeared then disappeared in the lights lining the road. There, then gone, there, then gone. "Victoria Argent stabbed herself." She said quietly, her hands tightened to fists on her lap. The sharp tips of her nails pricked her palms, leaving four perfect little dents. The pain faded quickly. "Suicide."

Melissa rubbed her hand against the steering wheel, shaking her head. Leaving a little girl like that, on purpose? It was inexcusable. She couldn't imagine it. She resisted the urge to close her eyes against the thought. "I remember when Stiles' Mother passed." She said to the silent interior, Lydia looking at her with those dinnerplate dahlia eyes. So big. She was shocked. Melissa continued. "He was young, but he understood." She remembered it well. She'd been a nurse even then. She remembered the night easily, and it aftermath. "He'd have these panic attacks..." she trailed off, shaking her head. Stiles was like a son to her. He was one of her boys, just like Scott. She remembered it all too well.

Lydia stiffened in her seat, her mouth parted in shock. She licked her lips. She didn't know. "His Mother is dead?" She asked quietly, her breath crushing out in a shocked exhale.

Mrs. McCall frowned, her brow furrowed. "You didn't know?" She asked. She'd thought... Scott had said that the two of them were joined at the hip lately, that Stiles had finally gotten his girl. She'd thought she knew. "You two have been spending a lot of time together, I thought you knew."

Lydia frowned at the windshield, biting her lip harshly. "I thought she'd left." She whispered, she swallowed thickly. "Divorced."

She tried to deny the sudden catch in her throat.

.

...

An: And there it is. I need sleep now. See ya friendships.


	7. Exit

Disclaimer: I don't own teen wolf.

An: Hey there friendships. Part of me wants to draw this Kanima mess out...but I can't get to Stiles & Lydia moving forward without the Kanima out of the picture. So without further ado...here it is! If you didn't watch Mondays episode, turn back now! (And go check out my new fic Eleven Days, huh? Isaac and Lydia. Whaddya say?)

Also, check this site out: tv dot com/news/teen-wolf-crazy-good-and-crazy-good-photo-recap-28809/?ref=tweet_button Its hysterical.

.

...

Lydia heard the gunshot. It cracked loud through the air with this startling sense of finality. Of death. _Endings_.

When they'd arrived at the station her car hadn't been in the parking lot so she had stayed in the car, content to wait for Ms. McCall to finish doing...whatever it was Scott needed her to do at two in the morning. Unbelievable. They were supposed to be moving Derek, keeping themselves out of the Argent's eye. Being safe. She'd assumed her car would be here. That Melissa would take the boys home.

But she really didn't feel up to thinking game plans. She'd had a rolling in her stomach since they'd pulled up. A sick pitch to it like she was on unsteady ground. A small boat in a giant hurricane. It was dizzying, an ill sense of foreboding nipping at her heels. Something was going to happen. Something bad. Awful. Horrible. The moon hung heavy in the sky like a watchful eye. Derek Hale's Camaro was in the lot, two empty spaces over. She was just thinking about how strange that was. How dangerous that was. How unbelievably _stupid_ the boys were...when she heard the crack of the gunshot. A cloud passed over the moon and the imagery made her ill.

The gun had fired, loud in the silent night. Harsh. Painful. Too loud. _Too loud_. She froze like a deer in headlights, her breathing a shakey exhale. Terrified. Paused. Still. Melissa...but Scott was in there. He'd survive, right? But Scott...Scott meant Stiles. If Stiles had been shot...

Her legs were moving before she even realized that she'd left the car, barefoot against the blackened parking lot. Ignoring the rocks. Ignoring the insanity of running to the gunshot. Oh God. Gun shot.

She hit the door to the sound of the Sheriff shouting the boys' name. Shouting loud. There was blood bright on the bench, there was blood in the air. The smell of gun fire. Fire and smoke. Burned air. She tried not to scream. She tried so hard not to scream. She couldn't scream. She had to find Stiles. He had to be alright. _Please God let him be alright_.

Christ, what was she doing?! Running around barefoot in a party dress, looking for a guy with a gun. Creeping around. There was blood on the floor. On the walls. The exit sign at the end of the hall had it blocking the 'x', heating it. Making it pop in the near silence. She could hear voices. Faint. Someone was shouting. Something was hissing. A low, harsh, hateful noise. Hissing.

She turned slow, careful of her movements. Her heart beating hard in her chest. _Too fast_. Oh God she didn't want to turn around. She didn't want to see what was behind her. What was making that noise. There was the slow step of shoes with it. A steady gait. Loud, intimidating. _Terrifying_. Her whole body hurt with the urge to run. Her mind was screaming stay still. Slow. But her body was demanding her to run. To take off as fast as she could. She couldn't. She had to stay. Stiles...she'd came to help him, but now she wanted _his_ help. She bit her lip hard enough to bleed, turning around just as those footsteps stopped.

Jackson.

**No**. What stood at the hall wasn't Jackson, not anymore. Not ever again. His skin was mottled with grey blue scales, claws on his hands. He was looking at her like he didn't know who she was. The claws flexed and they looked like sharp glass. Ready to slice her open, poison dripping from their deadly tips. She swallowed thickly, her eyes watering. He took a step forward. "Jackson..._Jackson_ please..." She backed up slowly, carefully, her hands held in front of her like an ineffectual shield. She didn't stand a chance. The blood was cold beneath her toes. Freezing. Congealed. Thick. _Oh God_. She was sobbing, her breath hitching and making her light headed. Dizzy. Everything was spinning. "Please Jackson. _Please_." She was begging, backing up, shaking her head. She needed him to understand. To recognize her. It was a lost cause though. Those eyes...they didn't see her. Not really. She slipped, something rolling under her foot. She landed on her back in enough blood for it to splatter like a puddle. Coating her arms, her back, soaking into her hair. A finger...she'd slipped on a finger. "Oh God." She sobbed, shaking her head. Blood. It was everywhere. So much blood. It was like a nightmare. Her nightmares come to life. Only it wasn't Peter Hale stalking her through the hall as she crawled backwards in cold puddles of blood. It was Jackson. Crouched low like some beast.

The Kanima, no longer Jackson with those animal eyes, hissed. He crouched to pounce with his muscles tense and his hands out at his side, those claws open. He snarled and she saw his teeth, hateful teeth, and she screamed, her voice a pitiful wail. _**"Genim!"**_

.

...

Stiles stilled at the sound. _"Lydia_." She'd been with Melissa...she'd come to the station. Of course she had, he was so stupid. He knew they were together he just hadn't connected the dots. He couldn't. His mind hadn't let him. Oh God she was there. She was hurt or in danger and he couldn't do anything. He was helpless, paralyzed. He turned to Derek, fear in his eyes. The Alpha was looking back at him, confused by the voice. The name. His real name, one he hadn't been called in so long...she'd remembered. Stiles clenched his jaw, "Press harder." He said lowly, Derek nodded.

"Been awhile since I heard that name, huh _Genim?"_ Footsteps sounded and he turned to look up to Matt. The boy had his gun, pointed down at him. The barrel trained between his eyes. He was smirking and Stiles felt his stomach sour. Derek went still behind him, a quiet rustle signaling that he'd pulled his claws out. Matt had a look on his face that Stiles wanted to beating "How long has it been?" The boy asked, waving his gun as if thinking. "Since Mommy died, right?"

"Shut up." Stiles grit out, his teeth gritting hard.

Matt continued, ignoring him. "Sounds like Jackson found his little girlfriend." He bent over, watching the boy's face. Stiles wanted to kill him. In that moment, he wished he would have accepted the bite from Peter just so he could rip the boy's throat out with his teeth. "Did she go running back to him? Figures. Bitches."

"Shut up."

Matt continued drawing it out. Watching Stiles squirm in anger. "He's going to kill her. Rip her to shreds." Matt laughed, shaking his head. The gun hung lax in his head and Stiles knew if he could only move... "You know that right? That nothing you do can help her?" He stood, backing out of the room slowly. Smirking still. "Bet you wish you were more that a snowman now, huh?"

.

...

Lydia looked up at the ceiling, dazed. She could feel the blood crust on her skin. Feel it dry against her flesh, harden like a shell. It was the alarm that startled her to move. The lights flickering and the emergency alarm screaming. She had to move. She had to get up. She had to go. She had to.

Her hands slid in the blood beneath her, sticking in the slick feel. Her stomach protested the movement and she stilled, her stomach. She placed a blood coated hand across her ribs, the rips in the fabric rough on her palm. The tears in her skin painful. She had to go before It came back. She had to go. To find Stiles and get the image of his face pale with death out of her mind.

Her legs were wobbly and she leaned against the wall for support, hee hands dragging trails behind her and marking her trail. She didn't care. The dried blood scratched her skin as she moved, stiff. She wanted to scream at the thought of it. She couldn't tell herself this wasn't real.

This was real. This wasn't a dream.

She had to keep moving. Her side hurt and she could feel the blood soaking into her dress, the warmth of new blood meeting the chill of the old. There was something else there too, liquid and burning. The kanima posion. It beaded like water on a waxed car, unable to seep into her flesh. Maybe she _was_ immune. She knew the poison could paralyze her, she shuddered at the thought of laying in that blood soaked hallway. Unable to move. Stuck waiting to be saved.

She was **tired** of waiting.

She found Derek first, laying on his back in a mess of an office. She thought he was dead at first. His pale eyes staring at up the ceiling, blood soaking his leg. He was still as death. Unmoving. For a second she didn't even think he was breathing. She moved slowly, carefully into the room. Watchful for any sign of anyone else in the room. No one. Just Derek Hale's still body.

When she stepped close enough for him to see her, she got

a reaction from the still werewolf. He went rigid, sucking in a quick, harsh breath. His eyes got impossibly wide, his mouth parting in sharp shock. She had to wonder how bad she looked, self consciously rubbing the back of her neck. Obviously bad enough to scare a werewolf. Her high maintenance inner self causing her to try to smooth down her skirt with bloodied hands. It was stiff and she looked away with a blush to her cheeks.

Derek couldn't look away. _"Lydia_..." He breathed. She was a horrifying sight. Her pale skin painted in blood, her hair stuck flat against her shoulders with it. Flaking. The red substance streaked her face along with the black of her mascara, cutting tear tracks down her reddened cheeks. Her dress was ripped across her stomach exposing white skin and four long cruel scratches. Blood dyed her hair brown, her dress black. She looked like a horror movie heroine, her eyes wide as she knelt beside him. Her knees barely pressing against him. She smelled like death and clotted blood. The smell filling the air and choking him. "You're hurt." He frowned, tracing her for any other wounds. The blood wasn't just hers. There was too much. So much.

Lydia shook her head, brushing her hair out of her face. The blood helped it stay back and she cringed. Talk about your all natural hair gel. "N-not all mine." She told him, ignoring the ill feeling that truth gave her. She was covered in blood and she didn't even know who's it was. Disgusting. "Where is everyone?" She asked, her wide eyes looking around. He was the only one there. Oh...oh God, he was the only one there. No one else. Where were they? Had Matt taken them? Hurt them?

Derek didn't ask why she was there. Lydia always seemed to be in the mix somehow. Always there to get hurt. It was the chain. He tried to protect Scott, who tried to protect Stiles and Stiles tried to protect Lydia. It seemed he wasn't doing a good enough job. A child protecting a child from the monsters. Derek frowned at the thought, wondering when one of these kids would get hurt or worse. The danger of being a human in this world. "Scott took Stiles out after the lights dropped and the gunfire started, they went left." He jerked his head towards the door, digging his fingers in deeper into his thigh. It was taking too long. And it hurt.

Lydia stared down at him, looking at his finger digging into his skin. She cringed, her mouth pulling down. Gross. Not the point, she shook her head. "What about you?" She doubted she could drag him anywhere, he looked heavy. Very heavy. She rubbed her hands against her knees, trying to think. She couldn't leave him there. It wouldn't be right. But he wasn't her main concern.

Derek shook his head, he didn't need her help. He needed to dig deeper. He flexed his fingers. "I need to trigger the heeling process." He told her, watching her advert her wide eyes. For a girl covered in blood, she sure was squimish. "I need to get the poison out." He couldn't move his other arm or he'd do the same on the other side.

"So you need to hurt something." Lydia said quietly, studying his face with a blank expression on her own. She seemed lost for a second, thinking. She reached out quickly and grabbed something out of his line of sight, a jerky movement that caused her blood covered arm to brush his nose. The smell was horrid. Dead and rotting and mixed with her sugary perfume.

Derek roared as he felt the sharp point of the letter opener she palmed spear through his outter thigh. Just below his hand. Deep and destructive. Painful. Lydia showed him no mercy as his body bowed off the hard floor in pain, yanking it out and giving him two more sharp stabs. Quick. Again and again. No pause. No notice. Uncaring. Doing what needed to be done.

Before her make shift weapon got him again Derek struck out and grabbed her raised arm. _**"Thanks**_." The werewolf growled, his eyes bleeding red. He tightened his grip and Lydia shrugged her bloodied and bared shoulders, easily dropping the letter opener. It clanged hard to the floor and he let her arm drop to her side. It suddenly struck him how different Lydia was from Stiles. The boy who had cringed at the thought of cutting his arm off was in love with a girl who showed up coated in blood and stabbed him repeatedly without so much of a bat of her perfect lashes. He leaned up, slowly staggering to his feet. Lydia did what was necessary. She did what she thought she had to. No matter the cost. Now he had to do the same. He didn't offer her his hand, clawed as it was it would carve her to ribbons. His red eyes looked down at her, feeling his skin knit together. His lip drew back in a snarl. "Now run."

Lydia took orders much better than the rest of them.

.

...

She found herself wandering the halls. The twisting, dark halls. She heard shouts, a loud bang. A roar. Derek...Scott. Stiles. She turned to the sound, finding herself face to face with the point of an arrow. A crossbow. Allison's face shining in the pitch black. The girl's expression was hard. Cold.

Lydia pressed a hand to her hammering heart, shaking. She'd thought it was Jackson. But the girl's face brought no comfort. "Allison you stupid idiot." She hissed, leaning against the wall. "Put that thing down." The Argent's were here. Dammit. Who knew what they'd do. They must have been the ones to cut the power, to shoot up the main room. She looked up sharply, wishing she'd given Allison a stronger dose. She didn't need the extra danger.

Allison took in her friend, noticing the scratches across her body. The blood. "The _Monsters_ do this to you?" She asked meanly, letting the bow drop to her side. She was sneering, an ugly look on her pretty face. She was trying to be tough, strong. It wasn't working.

Lydia rolled her eyes to the black ceiling. She didn't have time for this. She didn't have the patience for it. She had to keep moving. "You need to leave Allison." Lydia said, whisper quiet. She kept her eyes peeled for the Kanima. Listening to the noise at the back of the hall. A fight. Between the shifters. She had to go. She turned her head. "Take your family with you." She hissed, trying to move.

Allison snatched out, grabbing the girl's arm. She had a pleading look on her face, broken. Foolish. "You don't understand." She said, shaking her head. "They killed my mother." She whispered. "I want revenge. I deserve it." The brunettes voice had hardened, her grip hard. "I deserve to kill them. To stop this so they can't hurt anyone else. Its what the Argents do. You can't understand."

Her mother always said that she could suffer anything but fools. And Allison was being a very big fool. Lydia tore her arm away, the blood slicking the girl's grip. She grabbed her by the front of her shirt, pushing her hard against the wall. How stupid could one person be? How blind?

She didn't have time for this. She didnt have the mind state for it. She'd been attacked by her ex-boyfriend, who'd been covered in scales. She herself was covered in blood. She'd just stabbed Derek Hale with a letter opener and now she had to find two boys who would have been better off if they'd just listened to her. Everyone would be better off if they just . Then she wouldn't have to stalk the halls, bloodied and terrified. _**"NO!"**_ She shouted, her grip tight. Allison was the straw that broke her. The final bit. It had all been too much and she couldn't take the girl any longer. This shit was her family's fault. If they hadn't come along..."You don't understand!" Lydia gave her a shake, meeting her eyes dead on with a harsh look. "They didn't kill your mother, your mother killed _herself_ because of her ideals. Because these _stupid little rules _your cult of a family has put forth and brainwashed you to believe. And you're just too fucking stupid to realize that you're letting them ruin you with them." She shook her head, stepping back. Allison stayed against the wall, wide eyed Lydia's voice was quiet. Low and mean. "You're too stupid to learn from these mistakes. _Derek_ didn't kill your Mother. Derek attacked her to save Scott. The boy you _claim_ to love. The boy your Mother tried to _kill_, unprovoked even though he hasn't drawn a single drop of blood. That goes against these rules your little family loves so much. Or are they just there until they aren't? You're mother killed herself because she was weak. To weak to stand on her own. Too weak to be anything other than a psychopathic controlling _Argent_." Lydia shook her head, running a bloodied hand through her hair. Allison looked so pitiful it made her stomach churn. But she had no pity left in her. "You're Mother killed herself because she was pathetic. And you're falling into the same trap because you are just as pitiful."

She drug her fingers hard against her scratches, feeling the slime of the posion on the tips of her nails. She snatched Allison's jaw, opening it and shoving her fingers in the girl's mouth. She was too slow to reac

t, watching with

tears in her eyes. Lydia felt bad for a second, but she soon lost that as the memory of what had all happened hit her again. She let her friend drop to the floor, unmoving. "Butch up babe. The humans are worse than the monsters in this game."

.

...

Stiles counted the tiles in the ceiling, trying to struggle against the poison. He could still only move his toes. Goddamn it! Lydia was out there, his Dad was and Scott's mom. Derek too. Matt had a gun and he'd heard gunshots. And all he could do is lay there and count the tiles.

They could all be dying and her couldn't do anything. Lydia was hurt. He'd heard her scream...she'd screamed his name. **Genim**. His _real_ name. A name he hadn't heard in so long. She was hurt and he knew it. The others were just possibilities. She was a definite. Lying bloody in a hallway somewhere. Maybe dying. He fought hard against the posion, feeling his arms tingle. Maybe he could crawl...

"Stiles. Oh...oh thank God." The door slammed behind her and for a second he thought she was a ghost. She was drenched in blood, covered. His heart stopped. She rushed closer, straightening him in the chair, checking him. Poking and prodding. Looking for wounds.

Stiles grabbed her hands, his grip weak. He was just glad he could grab her. Prove that she was real. She was hurt, her dress ripped. God, there was so much blood. It couldn't be all hers. Who's was it? How did she get so much on her? "How did you-Jackson..." He frowned, finally seeing the scratches. They weren't deep. They wouldn't even scar. But they hurt, he could tell by the way she favored her right side. Leaned away from the wounds. That's why she'd screamed. Because Jackson had attacked.

She'd seen the Kanima.

Lydia leaned back, away. But she kept the grip on his hands. She didn't want to let go. To drop the hold. Her hands shook in his. "Its just a scratch." She muttered, twisting to feel the sharp tug of the wound. She hissed, feeling the sting of the poison on the rent flesh. "Immunity." Her face fell and so did she, sitting on her ass on the floor. Stiles struggled to look down at her, watching as her face drew blank. Shocked. "I...I thought he was going to kill me." She whispered, her eyes far away.

Stiles frowned, gripping her hands tighter. "I thought he had." He'd been so afraid. So scared. When he'd heard her scream...He'd almost gouged Derek himself. Anything to help her. God, he'd thought he'd lost her. Not that he even had her now. Lydia looked up at him with those big dinner plate eyes.

"Are you okay?" She asked, moving to kneel by the chair. She tugged her hands out of his grasp, still trying to find a wound. Jackson had to have scratched him. To get the venom in. She had to make sure they weren't too deep.

"Its just a scratch." He parroted her words back to her, shrugging her hands away. It was just a scratch but he didn't want her to worry. Not about him. He just didn't want her to worry. "After a couple hours I'll be fine." His face fell, suddenly remembering something. "Derek! He's still in the office." He started, wiggling to sit up straighter. Trying to stand with numb legs. He couldn't.

Lydia pushed him back, standing up and sitting on the table. She pointedly ignored the mirror, avoiding her reflection. If it had given Derek a scare, she loathed to see what it would do to her. "No he's not." She answered, grabbed the edge of the cold metal table beneath her. Her grip was tight, hard. She frowned, "I stabbed him. With a letter opener. He's fine." She shrugged at Stile's shocked look. It needed to be done. Derek's little pinches obviously hadn't been helping, and it seemed no one else was going back for him. No need to get squimish or guilty. She hadn't even hurt him, bad... "Healing process. Maybe a little anger. This blood is his." She was rambling, frantic. Terrified. She pointed to the fresh bit of blood on her forearm, dragging her fingers across it.

Stiles shook his head. "You're covered." He muttered, his eyes taking stock of her again. So much blood. And she seemed fine with it. Not comfortable, but accepting. She'd moved on. Shrugging her shoulders again.

"'s not mine."

Stiles clenched his jaw, looking off to the side. The air suddenly felt heavy. "Before..." he started, trailing off slowly as he remembered. "Before, you called me by my real name." He remembered hearing it. Hearing Her scream. How scared she'd sounded. He'd never forget it.

Lydia played stupid. Unsure why. She kept her eyes wide, innocent. "Did I?" She asked quietly, trailing her bare toes against the floor. They barely touched.

Stiles smiled softly, she was so short. And he knew she was playing innocent. "Yeah. I hadn't heard it in so long." He muttered. Genim. He didn't know how she remembered it though. Sometime he forgot it himself. "I didn't know anyone remembered it." He looked up and she looked like a deer caught in head lights, fidgeting nervously.

Lydia shook her head, "We'll talk later. Come on." They'd talk...when she had time to think about her answers. Calculate what to say. Plan it out. She didn't even know why she knew Stiles name herself. Genim. It had just...slipped out. Some memory. "Where is everyone?" She asked, looking around. Desperate for a change in topic. She'd talk about cats right now.

Stiles struggled forward, stubbornly pushing. He had to talk now. He had to tell her. "Lydia, I-I don't know what might happen tonight. I want you to know that-"

Lydia went wide eyed. She didn't know what he had to say but she knew she couldn't hear it. Not now. Not like this. She leaned forward suddenly, standing and pulling him with her. His arm thrown across her shoulders. He was heavy and it was a struggle, but it shut him up. "Come on! Move!" She hustled, moving him out the door. She knew they were out at the end of the the hall. The cells. He stumbled along, barely moving. A dead man's shuffle.

They moved at a silent pace.

.

...

"Allison...you're covered in blood." Chris found his daughter slumped, her eyes staring ahead. She'd been crying. Paralyzed. The Kanima.

Allison wanted to move away from her Father, wanted to turn away. But she couldn't. Her eyes stared blankly ahead. She was going to cry again. She knew was. She didn't want to. She thought she was strong. She thought she could be strong... "Lydia. Its all from Lydia." She whispered. She wasn't strong. She was weak.

Chris paused, looking away from his daughter to search the hall. "She's here? She's hurt?" He asked. She was a human. A concern. He didn't see her anywhere. He hadn't seen her when he'd searched the halls.

Allison shook her head tightly, "Just a scratch. She's immune." She said coldly. Immunity. "The rest of the blood isn't hers." She remembered the way the redhead had looked. Like a monster. Just like them.

"Allison, what happened?"

Her Father sounded so worried. Allison felt her stomach turn. "N-nothing." She stuttered. How could he tell him? Tell him what Lydia said? Ask if it were true? "I want to go home." She whispered, her voice broken.

Chris grit his teeth. "You shouldn't have come tonight. We should have taken care of this ourselves." He said, looking away from his child. "Derek and his pack..."

"I just want to go home, Dad."

.

...

They found his Father knocked out, Scott's Mother hidden in the back of the cell. Lydia let Stiles slip onto the bench by his Father, kneeling down by the man. He had a slight wound on his head, his eyes groggy when they slid open. "There's an iguana in here." The Sheriff muttered, sliding back down. Lydia pulled a pin from her hair, finding the hammer in the lock and tripping it loose.

"Nifty trick." Stiles muttered from the bench, watching as she let his Dad's hands go. He could feel his calves. Barely. Lydia tossed him a look over her shoulder, a smile that was more of a reflex than a feeling. He doubted she'd be smiling for awhile.

Lydia moved over to the cell, tapping a nail against the lock pad. She didn't understand this one. She may have to pull the pins from the hinges. "Ms. McCall?" She asked the dark space. She hadn't heard anything, she could just barely make out Melissa sitting on the cell bunk. Her head in her hands. "We're gonna get you out." She said, hitting her lip.

Melissa shook her head, slowly. Constant. "Scott...he was shot."

Lydia threw a look over her shoulder and Stiles nodded, "He's okay Ms. McCall." He said, "It just uh, grazed him." Lydia frowned. He was lying. Scott had been the shot she'd heard.

When she turned back, Melissa was at the bars. Her eyes wide, her hands white knuckles on the bars. Lydia could see the white of the woman's eyes like a scared horse. Terrified. Lydia gasped. Oh God...she'd seen. "Monsters." Melissa breathed, her breath shuddering. Her mouth worked in jerky movements, no sound coming out. "My son, my baby, oh my baby. His face..." The woman was sobbing, her face pressed against the bars. Lydia stepped back.

Stiles gave her a

confused looked. Lydia backed out slowly. "I've got to...I'll be back." She said, shaking her head. Melissa's terrified look burned in her eyes. She knew that face. She recognized it too well. Stiles struggled to move, but he couldn't. "Stay here." She'd seen it in her mirror.

.

...

She had to get out of that room. She need air. Just one breath. She'd go back. She'd pull the pins of the door. Get Melissa out. Convince her she was in shock, hallucinating. There were no monsters. None at all. There was no Kanima. No werewolves. No monsters.

When she found Jackson her heart stalled. Standing in the blood spattered hall he was staring at his hand, his whole body shaking. When stuttered her name he turned and she knew it was him. Not the Kanima. Jackson, the boy she'd dated for a year. Claimed to love. Claimed to hate. The boy she'd lost her virginity to. He was looking at her in fear and she knew she was frightening. She smirked. This was even ground. This she knew.

"Lydia." Jackson's voice cracked, holding his hands out. Looking from them to her with something broken in his eyes. "What happened? Where am I? How did I get here?" He was so lost. So confused. Lydia's smirk widened and she took a step closer. It seemed today she was playing the bad guy. Telling the hard truths that no one else would. This was her field. Manipulation.

She was comfortable here.

"So many questions Jackson." She laughed without any humor shaking her head. Lydia touched her open wound, feeling that slime. Jackson gaped at her and she knew he wanted tlmo back away. To run. She took another step forward, coming face to face with the boy. He looked terrified and she trailed her fingers down his face, smiling at his painful flinch. "I'll answer them. But first you're going to do a little something for me."

Kanima. Human. They both fell at the same rate. Feather and a bowling ball.

.

...

They were state police that came. They rushed in, finding them all in the cell room. Scott and Derek had found her in the hall, on her way back. They had Jackson. Traumatized and silent over Derek's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

They'd let Lydia shower before they questioned her. Let her wash the blood off her body. Even the police had look shocked. Horrified. She didn't feel clean enough, she couldn't. Not yet. She had to lie about the scratch marks, they all did. Derek and Stiles had claimed a blow to the back of the head left them out. Unable to see what happened. She sighed. How the hell were they going to get this story straight?

Scott had told them that Matt had taken him hostage, shouting about Orestes and furies. He'd had a gun but he hadn't shot him. He'd ran, gone somewhere after the machine guns fired.

The Sheriff was safe, all he'd seen was Matt with a gun. The four of them that knew the real truth could all claim nerves, that they couldn't answer questions because they were so shaken up. Jackson was still frozen in place and she'd had the foresight to delete the video footage from the feed. She'd also just gone ahead and 'accidentally' dumped a full glass of water on the CC hardware. Whoops.

It was Melissa they had to worry about. She was silent in shock. When the police had shown up she'd refused to leave the cell. She'd been terrified. Her back against the wall. She was in shock. Lydia couldn't look at her. A mixture of emotions.

Scott and Stiles were waiting for her in the break room that the shower room was off of. Lydia dressed in a thankfully clean pair of gym shorts that Scott had in his trunk and a too big teeshirt from an anti-drug fundraiser three years back. 'Get Baked Goods, Not Baked Good.' It read. Scott leaned heavily against the wall, looking worse for wear in that awful blue shirt. She didn't know how he'd explained away the blood on it. The gunshot. She couldn't think about that now. About how terrified she'd been.

"They're not going to question you tonight." Scott said, his voice blank. Lydia understood. hadn't reacted well. It was hard. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tight. "Sheriff Stilinski won't allow it."

Lydia ran the towel through her hair, looking over at Stiles. He leaned against the shut door, watching her with that strange look on his face. She blushed under his gaze. "So its Sheriff again?" She asked quietly, leaning into towel. She kept expecting to find blood on its white surface but there was nothing there. Just water. She sighed, her chest heavy.

The boy nodded, rolling his shoulders. The cut on his neck hurt. His whole body hurt. "It will be, after the publicity this gets." He said, folding his behind him. He licked his lips in a nervous gesture. "Jackson dropped the restraining order. He was pretty clear about that." He looked at Lydia with a brow raised and she just shrugged, sitting down at the little break table. Even if he asked her she wouldn't admit to doing something, but Jackson had been poisoned. The blood cleaned from his hands. Lydia had been gone for awhile. Long enough.

Scott slid down the wall, siting on the floor. His eyes were wide, staring blankly ahead. Lydia frowned down at him. "They took my Mom to the hospital. She's in shock." He said quietly, his voice wavering. "She saw me. And Derek. She was so scared of me." He was broken and the rest of them were just as bad off.

Lydia bit her lip, looking away from them. Her on a picture. A group photo with the smiling black female officer. She was dead now. "I saw Allison." She said, looking at the woman in the photo. Young. She looked so young. Not their age but not old enough to die. But then again, what was old enough to die? "I told her about her Mother."

Scott, ever the white night, looked up. She assumed he would have stood if he wasn't so tired. Maybe even raised his voice. But he was tired. They were all tired. "Why would you do that?" He muttered looking back to the floor. He was honestly too tired to think. He remembered Allison's face in the hallway. Her determination.

Lydia shrugged. "She needed to know." She answered simply, her eyes narrowing. "And Derek...does he know you're betraying him to Gerard?" She'd heard them in the hall, the two of them. She knew Derek had heard too. She'd met his eyes across the hall. He felt betrayed.

"He was going to kill my Mom!" Scot defended.

Lydia stood, shaking her head as she walked over to the door. Stiles stepped to the left, moving out of his way. She grabbed his arm. "Explain it when you catch a ride with him." She said, looking down to meet Scott's eyes. She turned the knob, tugging on Stiles's arm. "Now bring me home, Genim."

.

...

An: So its six in the morning. I've been writing since midnight to get this chapter out for yall. And I don't even think its that good. Angel is on and I've got stuff to do today. But I'm so not getting it done. I was supposed to go dress shopping. Fortunately I keep my feathers numbered for just such an occasion. (My dresses too.)


	8. New Start

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf.

An: I am so tired, friendships! I want to get a game plan down cause from this point forward, its my plot. Not Teen Wolf's. Also, I got some pms about Lydia being mean to Allison and asking what she told Jackson, saying I needed more/less. The Jackson thing is a secret, but the Allison thing? Its a plot point. And Allison needs a good shake. Geez Louise they handle her with kid gloves! Even before the mom thing she was just so woe is me. Boo hoo. Anyway, enjoy.

.

...

"What do we do now?"

Stiles sighed heavily, leaning his head back against the bed. He stared up at the speckled ceiling. Shrugging his heavy shoulders. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even know what was really going on anymore. His Dad had stayed behind to investigate a murder sight. And not the multiple ones inside. One outside, in the creek under the old bridge.

A body was found in the river. And they couldn't find Matt.

He didn't feel bad for the boy even though he knew he should. He didn't have it in him anymore. He didn't care. Didn't care that Matt was dead. Didn't care that he'd almost died. Didn't care because he just couldn't. He'd go crazy. He couldn't think about it and when Lydia looked at him with her heavy glazed eyes he knew she couldn't either. She was gone, she had to be because there was already so much the both of them had to deal with already and they couldn't. They were young, it was early, and they were drunk.

They'd gotten to her house far over an hour or two ago, the early morning sun lity yard was littered with plastic cups and the bushes down trodden showing the quick escapes of the drinker party goers. The last person to leave had been nice enough to shut the door behind them. Maybe the police had. There was a notice on the door, Stiles pulled it down. They wanted to see her at the police station as soon as possible. Lydia hadn't even given it all a passing glance, walking straight into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of wine. She didn't bother with glasses, just a cork screw and a backwards glance she threw him over her shoulder. A brow raised in question. He could turn back now, go home, or he could stay and drink with her. Forget the night they'd had. There was vulnerability in her eyes, a slight fear of being alone even though her expression was confident. Stiles knew what it was because he felt the same way. Alone and terrified. At that moment he wouldn't have denied her anything. He'd followed her up the stairs in a silence they shared. There was nothing to say. What could be said after that?

She'd changed while he fought the cork, swearing it was glued in there. Lydia, in her newly donned silk night gown looking very much like herself, had rolled her eyes viciously stabbing the cork and giving a practiced twist before upturning the bottle and taking a too long swig that caused bubbled to rise from the opening.

Stiles had frowned, wondering if she was drinking her feelings. But when she'd turned the bottle to him he hadn't turned her down, taking a mouthful that wasn't Brobdingnagian. She'd said something about it being a good year as he choked on it. Wine was strong. Stronger than he'd thought it would be. He thought it was what women drank. Light and fancy. That was two bottles ago and now the third hung loosely from his hand, only a few more drinks until it met its end. His vision was blurry and his mind dull, gone. His body felt deliciously numb and heavy. All thoughts of the night had escaped him until she finally spoke, breaking the silence they'd been sharing.

Lydia laid long ways across her bed on her stomach her face turned on the mattress beside his, close enough so when she breathed out he felt her exhales against the side of his head, warm and scented of heavy wine. Her small hand reached out for the bottle, tugging it away and taking a drink. His hand fell heavy to the ground, loose. Numb. Wine was good. Not Jack good, but good. Maybe that was why it was the favorite of middle aged women who hated their lives.

"You think this will ever be over?" She asked quietly, her wine scented breath hot against his neck. He turned to look at her but she wasn't looking at him anymore, her heavy eyes had slid closed and her pink lips were barely parted. She looked beautiful and with the faint color in her cheeks and he let his head fall back, studying her. Her arm was thrown over the back of her head in a feat of flexibility, her fingers curled lightly. There were chips in her dark nail polish, little marks of imperfection that showed just how far she'd fallen. Before all this Lydia wouldn't so much as check the mail without a manicure. He knew that color though, she'd spilt it on his bed. A hard Burgundy stain against his sheets. No matter how hard he picked at it the mark stayed there. Lydia had laughed as he grumbled about it, as he picked at it with the determination only a big dose of Adderal could provide. She was speaking again, raspy. Quiet. Defeated. "You think we could ever forget this?"

Stiles slunk down low at her voice, the tone, the question. It made him ill. The wine bottle clanked down empty from her hand. This wasn't his fault...but it was at the same time. He was confused. Scared. Suddenly she was tugging on his shoulders, his shirt, pulling him into the bed. He let her, sliding next to her on the comforter. She was on him in an instant, her face tucked in at his throat. She smelled like cheap soap and expensive wine, her tiny hands grabbing the fabric of his shirt. Stiles sighed, closing his eyes and letting himself run a hand through her messy hair. It had dried with a crimp in it from the ponytai she'd had it in, a hard crease in her curls. She moved closer, pressing all she could. Desperate for stability. He was a security blanket. A non sexual security blanket. But of course he was. The only time they'd kissed was when she initiated it. She didn't know, couldn't know, because he didn't tell her. Couldn't work up the nerve.

He'd thought they were going to die tonight, last night. But they hadn't. He'd been so worked up. She'd never know. He had been so ready to tell her in the office when she'd been covered in dried blood and fear, wide eyed as she looked at him like he was salvation. So scared. They both had been but she'd took charge. She was Lydia Martin. Nothing stopped her, nothing ever would. He knew that now. The wine gave him courage and he looked down, pushing the hair from her lax face, letting the strands fall loose. Her eyes were closed, tired, her parted lips were stained with the wine that was giving him strength, courage, maybe false hope. Because maybe she would say yes...maybe even feel the same way. "Lydia?" He asked, feeling her mumble against his throat rather than hearing it. It vibrated against his flesh and he bit his lip, almost loosing his nerve. There'd be no turning back after this. No denying it. "Go to dinner with me?" He asked so quietly he was sure she wouldn't hear. He wouldn't repeat it though, not with his voice broken and raspy from the liquor. A mix of weak and strong. And that's what he felt like when he felt her stiffen on his side, weak.

Her eyelashes fluttered against his throat and she struggled to sit upright, letting his shirt go and looking down at him. Stiles felt his stomach fall through his spine, taking it with it on the downfall to his toes. There was no expression on her face, she just blinked at him like it was mechanical. A robot. Her wide eyes showed nothing. Her posture showed nothing. She raised a hand, brushing the hair from her face as he leaned up on his elbows. He'd ruined it all. He knew he had. But he had to wait it out...Maybe. "Are you asking me on a date?" She asked in a voice just as blank as her face. Nothingness. A black hole that was sucking everything he had into and destroying all he had. Too soon, his mind said, too soon.

Stiles just nodded however, no answer. He couldn't answer.

Lydia felt her breathing pick up, a sharp intake. Tonight. He was asking her this after all that had happened? Do you think this will ever end? This was it. This was moving on. This was ending it. Normalization. A human boy going on a date with a human girl. A night of dinner where she could focus. Where there were no monsters. She nodded, leaning back on her pillows. "Yeah." She agreed, smiling at the thought. Stiles was safety. Stiles was normality. Stiles...he was something that she didn't understand. She pulled the blankets up her body, "But you're gonna have to get out of my bed now."

Stiles frowned, then smiled. Lydia smiled back, her blanket covered foot giving him a shove. He was looking at her again with that strange look in his eyes. She winked as he swayed on his feet. "Have fun on the couch." Stiles felt his smile widen, it was worth it. He had a date. With Lydia Martin.

.

...

An: And This ends part 1! I hope you stick around for part two. In the mean time, check out Howl or Eleven


	9. Fear No Susan Glenn

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

An: Come With Me Now On A Journey Through Time And Space...its part two of my story now. I hope you enjoy. I know I enjoy writing!

.

...

Lydia woke up with a hangover that would destroy cities. Explosions blasting in her mind. Her head pounded. It was too bright in her darkened bedroom. Air was moving too loudly. The garden scented plug in made her stomach roll and Prada's body heat at the bend of her knees was a sauna. All in all her life was miserable.

So of _course_ Allison would be there, standing over her nervously and looking as bad as she felt. Lydia groaned, pulling the blankets over her face and praying it was all a horrible dream. Please let this be a dream. _Please!_

She tugged the too hot blankets away from her face, opening one bleary green eye. Nope. No dream. Just fidgety Allison, **fidgeting**. "Please tell me you came with morphine." Lydia moaned, pressing her hands to her temple. "Or something stronger." God her head hurt. Wine was evil._ Evil. Evil. Evil_. Allison shook her head, but opened her tightly clenched fist. Her hand shivering.

Two Advil were there, their coral colored coating smeared against Allison's sweaty fingers. Lydia didn't care, plucking them away and tossing them back with the ice water offered. It was heaven. _Bliss_. She drank the whole glass slowly, eying Allison over the rim of the glass, trying to figure out what was going on. she was sure it was fairly obvious, but at the moment she couldnt think about anything other than how horrible she felt.

The girl was looking everywhere but her, switching from foot to foot. Biting her lip. Her brown eyes landed on Stiles jacket, the trio of wine bottles, the pill hugging giraffe. Lydia laid back on her pillows, sighing heavily."I'm not a mind reader, Allison." She muttered, pushing the blankets away with a heavy hand. Even her _hands_ hurt. Wine was made by the Devil. There may be innocent blood and curses in it. She wasn't sure yet.

Allison clenched her hands together, perching on the edge of the bed like a nervous budgie. Lydia peered at her from one eyes, frowning. The brunette wasn't in her Argent getup of all black and no mascara. She seemed to be making up for it with glossed lips and a flouncy skirt. "Is it true?" She muttered, picking at a run in her tights. Lydia resisted the urge to slap her hand. "What you said about my mom?"

Lydia closed her eyes at the pinch of guilt she felt. Allison's mother wasn't even cold yet but there she was, throwing buckets of _bitchy_ on everything. Allison was her friend, One of her first _**true**_ friends, and she was treating her like shit. Telling her her dead mother was pathetic and weak. Next week she was going to tell _orphans_ that _Santa_ wasn't real. Putting her hand over her eyes, Lydia groaned. "I probably shouldn't have said that." She muttered, her mouth pulling down at the taste of the words. She stood by it. She wasn't going to apologize. The Argents _were_ crazy maniacs and not to play the blame game, but she was pretty certain that if they'd never came to Beacon Hills all this wouldn't have happened. Sure there'd still be werewolves, but they'd be _happy_ werewolves. Bounding through the woods and not eating people in lacrosse fields.

Allison shrugged her shoulders, moving back further into the bed. She was getting comfortable, sitting just under Lydia's feet. Prada moved into her lap and Allison busied her hands with the dog's soft fur, its wild ears. "No one else would have told me." Allison whispered, biting her lip. She wanted to cry. She wanted to be strong. She found she couldn't be either. "We have these _rules_. Rules that we're supposed to follow, hold above _**all else**_. One of those rules is that we don't kill unless they do. That if a werewolf hasn't spilt innocent blood we don't hurt them. These rules..." Allison laughed bitterly, choking on it. She shook her head as she looked up to the ceiling, blinking back harsh tears. "These _rules_ are what we are supposed to abide by. Its what separates us from the 'monsters'. But now we are the monsters."

Lydia watched the girl with wide eyes, clenching the blanket in her hands. Allison was having an emotional crisis. A divide in her life. Lydia didn't know how to deal with it. She was just as lost. They all were. Children dealing with things that no one could possibly understand. "Everyone has their own opinion on monsters." Lydia struggled to sit up, leaning her back against the headboard. Her mouth turned down and she shook her head. "Your Mother probably had a good reason to..." She trailed off, looking down.

Allison scoffed angrily, shaking her head. "No. '_**Good reasons'**_ aren't enough. The line is clear, Lydia. She attacked him, tried to kill him, because I _love_ him. Because he loves me and he's a monster to her. But he's not a monster!" Allison was looking at her for some sort of agreement, confirmation that Scott was good. The thought hit Lydia suddenly, every person she trusted _loved_ was telling her that Scott was evil. That the boy she loved was _bad_. That he'd _kill_ her and their love was _wrong_. Against what was right. Lydia nodded slowly, carefully. Allison let out a choked sob. "I love him and she tried to kill him for it! He's sixteen Lydia! Sixteen!" Allison was up, Prada scurrying away as the girl paced.

Lydia watched her with guarded eyes. Taking in her clenched form, the anger in her. Allison was beaten too. "He's good Lydia! He helps everyone! He wanted to _help_ Jackson. I'm sure he would have even helped _Matt_ if he got the chance. He's good and _they still hate him._" Lydia watched with a frown as the brunette slumped down, sliding down the side of the bed. She took the same spot Stiles had the night before, her face in her hands as she sobbed. Lydia let her. She needed a good cry. "Its not his fault, its not any of their fault. We did this. We caused _**this**_. We made them hate us. She was going to kill him because he loves me." The girl rambled, sobbing hard.  
Allison looked up suddenly meeting Lydia's eyes. There was determination in the dark depths, a fierce strength. Lydia shivered. "I'm going to be better than them." She said coldly, her fingers wiping the black tracks from her face. She pushed up to her feet only to sit back down. "I'm going to follow the rules. _**I'm**_ the head of the family now._** I **_make the decisions." Lydia felt bad for anyone who dared break the rules in the Argent family now. She'd always thought Allison weak...she'd never felt more wrong. The hardness suddenly seeped from Allison's shoulders, leaving her a wide eyed girl again. She meet Lydia's eyes with a tinge if anxiety. "Are we still friends?" She asked quietly, knitting her fingers together.

Lydia nodded, feeling the world spin andthe soft smile on her lips fade off. "Only if you'll hold my hair while I throw up."

.

...

"You're having dinner with _who?"_ Allison asked as she wrapped the barrel of the curling iron around her hair. She'd sheepishly told Lydia that she'd thrown away most of her beauty tools in her Argent fueled rage. Lydia had rolled her eyes, idiot girl. At the unveiled shock her friend was showing, Lydia sighed, raising her soapy leg out of the water and buffing away her hangover. "I can't believe he asked."

She didn't know if Allison was shocked because Stiles asked her out, or if it was because she said yes. Either way she raised her brow sharply, a green skin mask making the movement stiff. "What's that supposed to mean, _**friend?**_" Her voice was a thinly veiled threat and a cruel smile. Allison caught the look in the mirror and shivered. Lydia was definitely back. With a vengeance. Poor Stiles.

The brunette sat the iron in the sink, pulling the curl she created. "Nothing." She said, knowing Lydia wouldn't accept the answer. In the tub the strawberry blonde was pulling the mask off her face, frowning at it. She threw a piece, sticking it on the back of Allison's skirt with a glare. The girl cringed, continuing. "I just didn't think he'd ever ask is all..." Allison tugged at her hair, dropping out pins with her fidgeting hands.

Lydia frowned harder, sinking low into the water and beginning to feel a little self conscious. Why wouldn't Stiles ask _her_ out? What was wrong with _her?_ Before all this had happened she had been quite the hot commodity. She was sure after word of the wild party got out she'd be queen again. So why wouldn't Genim want _her_? And why the hell did she keep calling him by his first name? "Why wouldn't he ask me out?" Lydia grumbled, her mouth barely above the water. She was looking up at Allison with big round eyes and Allison felt bad about her wording.

"No no! I didn't mean it like _that_!" She swore, turning around with her hands up. Lydia's eyes sharpened on her, her brow now free to raise. Allison leaned against the counter, scratching the back of her neck. She'd put her foot in her mouth and now the strawberry blonde was going to choke her with it. "What I meant was...you're _Lydia_

_Martin._"

The answer seemed to placate her newly reconciled friend and Allison smiled. She needed Lydia. They all needed each other. They were in this together. They always would be. Stiles the brain, Scott the muscle, her the planner, and Lydia...the one with no modesty who was just wrapping a towel around her like it was nothing. Her naked trip in the woods made her far too comfortable.

Lydia pulled her dry hair out of the clip, stepping into the mirror and picking up the forgotten curler. Allison stepped aside, slipping onto the vanity chair. Lydia pursed her lips, "What should I wear?" She asked, curling the ends of her hair. Allison shrugged and Lydia narrowed her eyes. "Gee, _thanks_. You're so helpful." She snapped.

Allison put her hands in the air, shaking her head. "I don't know what to tell you." She laughed. It was really a little bit funny, Lydia worried about her outfit for _Stiles_. She could go in a potato sack and he'd still be head over heels. Hell, he may even prefer a short little burlap bag. She leaned backwards, peering into Lydia's open closet. "What about that little burgundy dress? It'll match your nails." She supplied.

Lydia hm'd, looking down at her chipped polish. She'd need to apply a new coat first but it would do. It was a good date dress too, snug but covering with red lace coat over a red strapless dress. She'd gotten it after she realized the teeth marks were going to scar and she needed covering. She smiled sadly. "Cream tights and grey heels?" The Oxford wedges maybe...suede peep toes? She planned the outfit out in her mind as she rubbed on her lotion.

Allison laughed softly behind her, poor Stiles was going to have a heart attack.

.

...

He couldn't breathe. _He couldn't breathe_.

His date with Lydia was in an hour and he _couldn't breathe._ Opening his medicine cabinet he snatched Scott's inhaler, taking a deep huff. The werewolf laughed softly behind him and he glared back. "You're not helping me!" He snapped, "You're supposed to _help_ me!"

Scott kept laughing, watching his friend pace his small bathroom. He'd already wrecked his closet searching for the perfect teeshirt and button up combo, and now he was panicking over hair. "You don't even have enough to style." He laughed, shaking his head at his friends antics. Stiles seemed to realize that and relaxed against the sink, fiddling with the inhaler. He seemed a bit down. Scott frowned, "What's up?"

Stiles leaned against the sink, shoving his hands in his pockets. His shoulders slumped around his face and he looked down at the toe of his sneakers. He was only wearing one so far. Keeping his eyes down, he muttered quiet enough that Scott had to listen with his were hearing" "What if she doesn't like me? Like what if I just ruin it so badly that she wont even _talk_ to me anymore?" His nerves were pouring off him like sweat and Scott wrinkled his nose.

Reaching behind him, he tossed his friend a stick of Old Spice deodorant. "First, use this. Its your friend.' Stiles lifted his shirt, doing as Scott said. He was a little...damp. "Second, I doubt that will happen, man." He laughed, shaking his head. Scott waggled his eyebrows, "She kissed _you_, remember?" He smirked, winking.

Stiles frowned, a blush on his face. Scott was right. Sort of. He played with the deodorant stick, picking at the label. "Yeah, but still. I loved her since the third grade." He sighed heavily, tearing it off. _**Fear no Susan Glenn**_.

Scott powered on, taking the deodorant away and replacing it with the boy's missing shoe. "Even if you mess this up, which I doubt you will," He added in a supportive tone, "there are other girls you know." He didn't think his friend cared much for other girls though. He was all in for Lydia.

Stiles frowned at the thought, giving his friend a sharp look. He didn't like that. He didn't want any other girl. He didn't know when it had switched from desperate crush to Spark-esque love, but it had an he couldn't shake it. "I don't want another girl." He said quietly, shaking his head. He looked up with a spark in his eyes, grinning. "I'll just switch teams. Speaking of, have you heard from _Derek_ today?"

Scott looked like he was going to be physically ill. "You're _not_ funny."

Stiles shrugged, tugging on his shoe. "Eh, humor is subjective. Matt thought we made a cute couple." He threw out, tying a bow. He looked up as Scott made gagging noise. His face went slack, the mirth fading. "Seriously though, what happened?"

Scott went serious, sitting down on the shut toilet seat. He sent his friend a dry look. "After Lydia just hung me out to dry and you left me to be disembowelled?" He asked, a sharp smile on his face.

"Yeah."

Scott rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he thought onnlast night. "He made me ride in the back seat, like a _child_. Then he lectured me about 'pack family' for like an hour. When he finally let me explain he kind of just...accepted it. But he said that if I talked to Gerard ever again he'd rip my throat out." Sinking low he tried to disappear. "And I'm supposed to go train with them tonight."

Stiles let out a loud laugh. "He's going to beat the life out of you." He said around his toothbrush, a towel tucked into the neck of his shirt. He would _**NOT**_ have toothpaste on his shirt for his first date with Lydia.

"No kidding." Scott yanked the towel with werewolf speed, smacking his friend with it on the back of his head. Stiles glared, his mouth ringed in foam. "Do you know if Lydia has heard from Allison?"

Stiles nodded, spat, then wiped his mouth on the towel he took back. "Yeah. She came over just as I was leaving today. I let her in." He remebered the way the brunette had acted, fidgeted. She'd been distant and quiet. Sad. But he wouldn't tell Scott that. "She seemed different. Nervous but resigned."

Scott bobbed his head, pressing his fingers together. "Do you know why she was there?" He asked, biting his lips together.

Stiles looked down to his phone, tapping the screen. "No." He answered idly, reading a text the girl had just sent. He frowned, but wanted to laugh too. "Lydia hasn't talked to me, she just texted that if I was late for our date she'd _drown_ me."

Scott cringed, looking up at the other boy incredulously. She hadn't, had she? "That's a little _too_ soon don't you think?" He asked, shaking his head. She'd made a joke about drowning after Matt... "He's not even cold yet."

Stiles just shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't going to tell her anything. He liked the way she was. "Its _Lydia_, dude. She's kind of twisted." He explained, tucking his phone away. He needed to get going. Soon. "If she tells me anything about Allison, I'll tell you." He looked over at Scott then down to his watch, his heart racing.

Scott's smile was positively wolfish. "Should I expect a call tonight? Or tomorrow?" He asked.

Stiles turned red, taking another hit of the inhaler. "Shut up." He muttered, stalking out the door as Scott cackled at his back.

_Bastard_.

.

...

She looked beautiful. She was stunning. He didn't know why she was with him. Dear God.

Lydia stood in her doorway, holding her white spy coat over her arm as she locked the door behind her. The porch light was framing her just right and he just had to stop. She'd said yes. To _him_.

Lydia noticed his stare, an almost self conscious flutter in her chest. There was something else there too. A catch in her breathing, butterflies in her stomach. He looked good. Real good. And something about the dumbstruck look he was giving her made him look even better. She smiled, holding her arms out.

She gave a spin and it was like a blow.

"Do I look alright?" Lydia smiled over her shoulder with her red painted lips. She caught his eye and winked. He turned as red as her little dress.

Stiles swallowed thickly, nodding like an idiot. She looked great, her red dress, pale skin. She stepped forward in those towering heels, dropping her house keys in his jean pockets with a smirk. Stiles jolted, looking down at her. "Are we going out or are you just going to stare at me all night?"

Lydia tried not to compare him to Jackson, they were two different worlds. Jackson had honked the horn, not came to the door. Stiles offered her his arm and she took it, following him to the car as he opened the door.

"You look really beautiful tonight." He said with a faint blush to his cheeks. Lydia smiled.

.

...

"Where are we going?" She finally asked, watching as Stiles turned left. Again. They were going in circles and this was circle number five. She frowned, maybe Stiles was crazier than she was. He _was_ driving around aimlessly while they were on a date.

Stiles tapped his fingers against the wheel, frowning. He didn't know. He hadn't really planned it. There wasn't really any time. He should have thought it out at least a little bit. Then he wouldn't have been driving around in circles, trying to figure something out without her knowing. Too bad she'd found out.

He slumped in his seat, switching it up and taking a right turn. That should throw her. "I...we, uh, there's a restaurant. We could go there." He pointed out, trying to think of something they could do. What did Lydia want to do? Should he ask? "Or the movies, m-mini golf." He stuttered, "Or... I really don't know."

Lydia turned her head, watching the newly nervous boy. He was a little _too_ nervous... "This is your first date." She smiled, only a little bit deviously. No wonder he was so painfully awkward. He'd never done this before. His face flamed under the street lights and she laughed softly. "I like that. Take me somewhere to eat." She hadn't had a chance to eat all day. She knew he probably hadn't either.

Stiles nodded, smiling. Of course she was his first date. There hadn't been anyone else he'd wanted to date. Sure there were girls who he'd asked out (but later canceled on), gone to dances with and school functions, but he'd never really gone on a date. This was _new_. He pulled into a spot that wasn't new, parallel parking between as Jetta and a truck. He looked up at the sign, smiling over at Lydia.

The strawberry blonde had a brow raised but an otherwise blank face. "A_ diner_." She said, her voice flat. Really? A diner? Really?

Stiles's smile faltered, fading at the edges. He didn't pull the key from the ignition. "Have you ever been in here?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Great Stiles, just mess it all up. Why didn't he just take her to a dark alley for crackers? That'd be just _golden_.

Lydia just blinked at him. "No. Because its a _diner_." She said easily.

Stiles moved to shift in reverse, "We could go some place else?" He offered, looking over to the passenger seat. Lydia was already out of the car.

He followed, a smile on his face as she walked into his favorite diner. It was almost empty, a Thursday night crowd of bored waitresses and usuals. Stiles nodded at the ones he knew, which was all of them, as he followed Lydia to the booth she chose.

"So nice of you to join me." She said as he slid in opposite of her. "And here I thought you didn't like this place." She winked a green eye over the laminated menu and he had to shake his head.

Maybe the diner wasn't such a bad idea after all.

A waitress slid up in a Retro dress uniform of pale yellow and white, her blonde hair a wide feathered throwback. She smiled at Stiles and he smiled back.

"I see you traded your daddy in for a newer model!" Suzzie joked, sliding her pen behind her ear. She'd been working at the diner since Stiles was young, she'd seen him grow since his mother died. But he'd never came in with a girl before. She smiled down at the girl, sending her a wink. "What can I get for you to drink shugar?"

Lydia hm'd, tracing a newly painted nail over the menu. Stiles noted no chips in the red polish. "A red cream soda with light ice" She ordered, turning the menu over and sending Stiles a waiting look. He ordered a soda and Suzzie walked off, smiling to herself.

Lydia raised a brow, scanning the menu. "Everything on this menu is fattening." She told him blandly, grinning down at the shiny one page menu. It was pretty standard diner fare. Greasy, fried, unhealthy. _'Loose_ vegetables' was an option. She didn't even know what that meant.

"They have salads." Stiles muttered, pulling at his menu. He scanned down. "Take the Bacon and bread out of the blt, add some _ranch_..." He muttered, trailing off, Lydia let out a loud laugh and he looked up. The diner was a damn good idea. He hadn't heard her laugh that hard in a while. And it wasn't even at someone!

Suzzie was back, their sodas in her hands. "Red cream for the pretty girl," she smiled, slipping it the fizzy drink to Lydia. The girl took it happily, dropping her straw in it and taking a sip. Suzzie slid Stiles his drink, "and a caffeine _free_ Cola for you son." She laughed. Everyone was on direct orders: Stiles got no caffeine.

"Gee thanks." The boy grumbled as Suzzie asked for their orders. Stiles frowned as he tried to figure out what Lydia would order. He'd only ever seen her eat pretty healthy. Other than that Reeses' Cup.

Lydia looked down at her shiny menu one last time, narrowing her eyes at it. "I'll have the _double_ Patty melt, no Mayo or ketchup, extra bacon with pickles." She ordered, tilting her head. "With curly fries." She added. She hadn't had a red soda in awhile. She'd forgotten how _good_ they were. But they were full of calories. Everytime they had gone out Jackson had ordered for her. Unsweetened tea, light salad.

Stiles's brows shot up and Suzzie laughed, "You sure you can fit all that into that little dress?" She chuckled, turning to the boy as Lydia smirked. Stiles shook himself, "And you son?"

"Ch-Cheeseburger and fries." He stuttered as Suzzie left again. Lydia took a sip from her straw, leaning her elbow on the table and handing over her menu with her free hand. She was so pretty, looking up at him with her eyes sparkling. Even in her expensive dress she was slumming it easily in an old diner with him. She was there with _him_.

Lydia watched Suzzie leave. The woman obviously knew Stiles. Maybe this was his favorite place? Suzzie obviously knew Stiles needed no Caffeine. _Ever_. "I'm already eating unhealthy, might as well enjoy it right?" She asked, leaning backwards in the cushioned booth. The red vinyl sunk around her.

"You're amazing." Stiles muttered, shaking his head.

Lydia grinned, "I know."

.

...

They talked about..._**nothing**_. Movies and classes, Lydia's favorite book. Stiles comic books. How he hadn't been to the park in five years. How she had an almost ironic weakness for Ginger snaps. Stiles' odd fear of ceiling fans that wobbled. Lydia's fear of whales. They bantered over the existance of mermaids. How it was shark week. It wasn't serious. They didn't want serious. They had enough of it everyday. This was fun, airy and light. They both laughed and Lydia threw her straw wrapper across the table.

By the time Suzzie came for their plates and refilled their glasses, Lydia had her shoes off, her stockinged feet up on the vinyl seat beside him. She wiggled her toes, bumping his thigh playfully. "Split an apple pie with me?" She asked as Suzzie inquired after dessert.

Stiles motioned to her empty plate with a raised brow, "The whole pie?" He joked, nodding as Suzzie disappeared behind the kitchen. Lydia smiled happily and took a sip of her soda. She needed more of these. Stiles watched her enjoy her caffeine. Lucky girl.

Suzzie sat their slice of pie down and Lydia moved over to his side of the booth. Suzzie gave two fork and a wink. "You gonna make me eat this by myself?" The strawberry blonde asked, running the tines of her fork across the ice cream on the top of the pie. She licked the tip of the fork and Stiles short circuited.

Lydia shoved a forkfull in his gaping mouth with a grin.

"I prefer cobbler." Stiles mumbled around his mouthful as Lydia laughed again, taking a bite herself with a shrug.

She watched as Stiles took another bite by himself, straight from the crust. The best part. Lydia turned to him with a sharp word on her tongue, but had to stop. He had a bit of cream on the corner of his lip. A little bit in the end. She smiled softly and leaned close, running her thumb across his bottom lip. She got the spot, bringing her hand back to herself and licking the pad of her thumb.

Stiles turned red, stuttering. "You wanna get out of here?" His date asked quietly, still leaned close.

He nodded, "Ch-c-hcheck please!"

.

...

An: So I'm really self conscious about my writting, you guys and your reviews mean the world to me! Also...if I reach one hundred reviews with this chapter, I will take suggestions from the hundredth review for the next chapter! (As long as its in character. Idc if its a picnic with the wolf pack or you want them to talk about shark week at a party by the creek. You decide!)  
Heres Lydia's dress btw! Www dot modcloth dot com /shop/dresses/ruby-blooms-dress


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